How Season Six Should Have Ended
by George Stark II
Summary: H/W slash, I change the ending to Season Six to Hilson and then write a pretend Season Seven. They're formatted like episodes but without anything medical.
1. Ending Change

**Summary:** I change the ending to Season Six to Hilson and then write a pretend Season Seven. They're formatted like episodes but without anything medical.

**A/N: **The beginning is kind of like a clean version of one of my other stories, a couple of sentences are the same, but this is way better.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own House or any of the characters. If I did, you wouldn't be reading this on fanfiction, you'd be watching it on TV. Literally. If I owned House, this would have been the final scene of season six. But this didn't happen, so obviously I don't own House.

How Season Six Should Have Ended

The pills were an inch from his mouth when he stopped.

He didn't want this. This isn't what he wanted. No one wanted this. He was mad at Wilson for kicking him out, and it was easy to blame him, but Wilson didn't want this either.

He put the pills down, gripped his cane tightly, and got up. Maybe he would tell Wilson what almost happened and maybe he would keep it to himself. He didn't know. Maybe he would figure it out when he got there. But he needed to move. He was sweating, scared of how close he came to fucking everything up.

Wilson only asked him to leave; he hadn't asked for his key, and House felt no guilt whatsoever about entering the condo without knocking. Especially not considering the circumstances.

The first thing he noticed was that it was quiet. Something was wrong. Why couldn't he hear her whiny laugh, or their slurping kisses, or her moans of pleasure as he ravished her in the bedroom? Or, more realistically, why couldn't he hear the monotone chatter as they discussed their boring days, or the clatter of dishes as Wilson cooked them dinner, or the drone of the television as they sat quietly on the couch?

Wilson was sitting quietly on the couch, but he was alone. It looked like he'd been _crying_. He didn't even look up as House came in. House, for once, wasn't sure what to say. He wanted to talk about his own problems, tell Wilson what he almost did, but he didn't because Wilson was hurting enough already and didn't need it. He wanted to say I told you so, but he didn't because Wilson was hurting enough already and didn't need it. He'd have plenty of time to rub it in his friend's face after they both finished recovering. House glanced at the coffee table. A half-empty beer bottle. Only one.

He sat down on the couch next to Wilson, looking at his face, trying to gauge what he could get away with saying and what he couldn't. He decided to forget his almost-slip. At least for now. He looked at Wilson, wondering how it had happened, exactly what had been said and by whom, what she had done to him.

But then he couldn't think any further than that. Wilson looked up from the floor at House, and in one fluid motion, leaned over and kissed him.

It was a moment before House closed his eyes, not wanting it to be more awkward than it already was. He kissed back automatically.

It wasn't just a shoving of tongues around mouths; they pressed their lips together, exchanged tongues, and then slightly pulled back. Press, tongue, pull back, press, tongue, pull back.

After about five seconds, Wilson pulled back for good. House opened his eyes and just stared at him.

[Credits]


	2. Establishment

**A/N: **Also in this one Thirteen doesn't ask for time off. I like her and I'm keeping her.

7.1—"Establishment"

The Dean of Medicine looked up to see Wilson about to knock on her door and gestured him in without waiting for it. She was surprised he was here already; it was early even for Wilson.

He strode in without a preliminary greeting and announced, "Cuddy, I'm calling in a favor."

She looked at Wilson and repressed a desire to pinch the bridge of her nose. "What do you need?"

"When House comes looking for me, tell him I called in sick...or took a personal day...or something. Tell him I'm not here."

She stared at her head of oncology. Even though it was first thing in the morning, his clothes were slightly rumpled and his hair mussed. It wouldn't even be a noticeable difference for someone like House, but Wilson usually kept so neat that it was slightly unnerving. She looked him over, wondering what could possibly make him so nervous. His eyes begged. "Please don't ask. It's important."

"All right," she agreed slowly, and then added a warning, "But you know you're only buying yourself fifteen minutes at the most."

Wilson grimaced. "Try to be convincing."

Cuddy nodded and went back to her paperwork. Wilson looked left and right before leaving her office. The best way to avoid House would be to go to a place he hated. Wilson headed off for his clinic duty.

[]

"House!"

It was Thirteen. He groaned and walked away, as fast as he could with a cane, but she inevitably caught up anyway.

"New case. Forty-one year old male–"

"–I don't care. Let Foreman handle it. I'm busy." He peeked into Wilson's office, but he wasn't there.

Thirteen gaped at him for a moment before continuing. "He's presenting with signs of–"

"–I said I don't care. I'm busy. Tell Foreman to take care of it." He headed off toward Cuddy's office. Thirteen threw her hands in the air and went back to the diagnostics room.

[]

"Where's Wilson?"

"He called in sick," she answered without looking up.

"He left the condo before I even got up. Besides, it's a hospital. If you're sick, it's all the more reason to come to work."

"House, I didn't ask. He's entitled to a personal day when he needs one."

"So you're in on it, but he didn't tell you what you were in on."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Don't you have a case?"

He inspected her.

She finally looked up. "House, he really isn't here."

"The clinic is too obvious, my office and the diagnostic room have glass doors, and either way it'd be too big a risk of running into me. If he weren't avoiding me, he'd just be in his office, but he's not. He can't be in any of my usual hiding places because he has patients. It'd make more sense to actually take a sick day than to just spend it in the morgue or–"

"–House, I don't know what you did to assume he's hiding from you, but he really–"

"–It must be the clinic. Thanks, Cuddy."

She sighed and shook her head as he left.

[]

Wilson pressed the stethoscope against the patient's back and instructed, "Take a deep breath."

As she breathed in, his pager went off. He glanced at it. 'He knows,' it read. Wilson sighed. "Crap."

"What's the matter?"

"Um, sorry, I've got an emergency with one of my other patients. I'll get another doctor to finish the examination. Sorry." He hurried out of the exam room, told Chase to cover him as he passed, and dodged into one of the empty exam rooms. He leaned his back against the door, panting.

Then his pager went off again. This one was from House. 'I no where u r.' At first, he shook his head because House couldn't know which room he was in, but then he heard House's voice, "Aha!" in the hall and realized how loud the page had been.

Wilson tried to barricade the door with his body with a minute before he realized how ridiculous that was. He stepped away from the door and House practically fell in.

"Well that was stupid," he said. "Now you can't even run away."

Wilson sighed. He was about to ask House what he wanted, but there was no point. He knew exactly what he wanted.

House surveyed him for a moment before speaking. "You can't just throw yourself on me and then freak out and run out the door."

"We don't need to talk about this. Just make a gay joke and then go back to your patient and we can pretend it never happened."

Wilson was avoiding his eye. House looked him up and down. Wilson just stared at the ground.

"So, how long have you been in love with me?"

"House, I'm sorry, all right? I made a mistake. Sam had just dumped me—again—I was upset, I was vulnerable, suddenly you were there–"

"–Why do people only kiss me when they're feeling vulnerable?"

"House, I'm sorry. Believe me. I am so sorry. Can you please just let this go?"

He finally looked up. His eyes caught House's, pleading.

"How long?" House repeated.

Wilson shrugged.

"Mayfield?"

"Before Mayfield."

"My father's funeral?"

"Before that."

"Before Amber?"

Wilson sighed and nodded. "Before Amber."

"So she was a proxy."

"She was a woman that I happened to fall in love with that happened to share some qualities of your personality. It probably would have worked out with her, and maybe that's because she was like you. But I loved her for her."

"But you loved me first."

He shrugged again, looking away.

House sighed, leaning on his cane. "How come you've never said anything?"

"Maybe it has something to do with the fact that you don't reciprocate?" Wilson suggested.

"I don't_ not_ reciprocate."

"What the hell does that mean?"

They looked at each other again. "It's not like I've never thought about it," House pointed out. "We both knew this was bound to happen sooner or later. We've never been_ just friends._"

Wilson's eyes narrowed. "_You_ never talk about this kind of stuff."

"You've never kissed me before."

Wilson's pager beeped again. He glanced at it and sighed. "This one's a real page. I gotta go, House."

For a moment House continued to block the door, but then he sighed and stepped aside. Wilson brushed past him as he left.

[]

His team was sitting in the diagnostic rom. They'd brought out the white board again in his absence.

"Up," he commanded.

"You said–" Foreman started.

"–It's not your case anymore. I'm back. You and Taub, check out his place and his office–"

"–He's spent the last twelve years in a mental institution."

"Do I look like I care? Check for environmental causes, check for secrets, do whatever it is you do. You two, there's been a change of premises. Up."

Chase and Thirteen looked at each other before following House out of the diagnostics room and into Wilson's office.

"What are we doing in here?"

"We're diagnosing a patient. Sit." He gestured at Wilson's couch, seating himself behind the desk while rubbing his thigh.

"Patient history. Go."

[]

Wilson opened the door and stared at the fellows sitting on his couch.

House looked up from Wilson's desk. "Okay, treat for myocardiodystrophy. Go."

Thirteen and Chase got up immediately, looking back at Wilson and House.

They looked at each other.

"You're the one in my office," Wilson decided, gesturing at House. "You can start."

"What do you want me to say?"

"What's on your mind?" Wilson sat down on his couch, surveying House. The oncologist seemed exponentially calmer than he had been before.

House studied him. "What's different? You get to tell an eleven-year-old her cancer's gone?"

Wilson smiled. "A nineteen-year-old. But also I've decided you're not gonna kick me out of the condo."

"Wilson, it's your condo."

"Even so." Wilson smiled at him.

"So what happens now?"

"We can…go back to the way things were and not bring up the...what happened last night."

House surveyed him. "You'll be miserable."

Wilson laughed. "I'm not miserable. I loved our life together, House, just the way it was. You were right about Sam; I'm not gonna try the same things over again and expect a different result. I've been happiest when it's just you and me, the way it's always been. I couldn't ask for anything more."

"But you want more."

Wilson shrugged. "If more was offered, I wouldn't turn it down. But I'm not expecting anything. I didn't plan on kissing you, House. It just happened."

House looked at him. "But I kissed back."

"I know you did, House. But it doesn't need to mean anything."

House stared. "Wilson, do you want me or not?"

Wilson stared at him in silence.

House's pager went off. '911.' "Congratulations, you just bought yourself some time." He got up and hobbled around Wilson's desk. "In case you need help with your decision…" He leaned forward close to Wilson and gently kissed his mouth. They looked at each other for a second before House limped off for his patient. Wilson ran his fingers over his lips.

[]

Wilson stormed into House's office. "What the hell was that about?" he demanded.

"What?" House asked innocently.

"You…that…stop screwing with me, House!"

"What do you want from me, Wilson?"

"I just said, I want you to stop screwing with me."

"I'm not," House insisted, clutching his leg and getting up from his chair. "I'm trying to give you an opportunity to get what you want. Next time think of the consequences before you kiss your best friend."

"That's just point, House," Wilson sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "I didn't think. I was upset, and I just saw you–"

"–And you were overcome with a fervent desire to–"

"–House, please stop."

House looked at him. "Why can't you just accept the fact that I'm saying yes?"

"Because it's not a rational decision."

"It's a perfectly rational decision. We've known each other for years, we put up with all kinds of crap from each other–"

"–House–"

House put up a hand. "–And neither of us wants to die alone." He gestured at Wilson with his hand, indicating his turn to speak.

Wilson chuckled humorlessly and ran a hand through his hair again. "That's your reasoning? That's why we should get together? 'Neither of us wants to die alone'?"

"That and the other stuff."

"I can't believe this. House, people don't get together just because they don't want to die alone."

"No, they _stay_ together because they don't want to die alone. They get together for different reasons, but when they can't stand each other anymore, that's why they stay. And we can still stand each other, so we're already ahead of the game."

"House, don't you get it? I don't want you to be with me because you don't want to die alone. I want you to be with me because you care about me."

"You know I do."

"That's not what I mean."

"What, then?" House's eyes pierced him. "Tell me what you mean."

"I want you to be with me because you're in love with me. But you're not," he added quickly. "So…end of story. No more kissing, no more talking about us as a couple. Just…back to before. This…never happened. The kiss never happened."

They looked at each other.

"Fine," House agreed shortly. "The kiss never happened."

"Thank you," Wilson said, bowing his head as he left House's office.

[]

The sun was starting to set when Wilson made his way toward the hospital's exit. He smiled at the nurses as he passed, with a sinking feeling because even if he found one he liked he wouldn't be able to pursue a relationship with her. Unless it was just for sex. Maybe that was what he should do, date women just for sex. Until he inevitably became emotionally attached and wanted to married again. He sighed. Maybe House had the right idea, just using hookers for sex. What other options were available, now...

"Wilson!" House called down the hallway to him, interrupting his thoughts.

Wilson stopped and waited for him, hoping despite his sex dilemma that things could finally just go back to the way they were before and that House wouldn't bring up the stupid mistake of a kiss. Either of them. But when he looked at his friend, he felt a different sinking feeling in his stomach. This wasn't over.

House approached him. "Don't think you're getting off the hook that easily."

"House, you said–"

"–I lied."

House's eyes studied him. Wilson didn't know what he wanted.

Finally House spoke again. "Why don't you ever just let yourself be happy?"

"What do you mean?" Wilson asked defensively. "I try hard to be happy, House–"

"–No, you don't," the older man cut in. "You're an oncologist, first of all, you spend your days telling children they're going to die, and then nights you don't want to be alone so you find some woman you know will eventually hurt you. You constantly accuse me of pushing people away but you're the one that kicked your only friend to the curb, lucky for you I forgave your stupidity. And then when you finally reveal to said friend you want a relationship with him and he agrees, you freak out and run off. What are you afraid of?"

House's eyes had not left his during this entire time, and Wilson didn't know how to respond. Eventually he decided to point out the tiny hole in House's argument. "I never said I wanted a relationship, House."

"Actions speak louder than words, Jimmy," House retorted instantly.

Wilson just looked at him for a moment, not responding, not knowing what would happen now or what he was supposed to do. Not knowing what he wanted.

After an eternity House stepped forward, closing the distance between them. He hooked his cane over his elbow so he could put his hands on Wilson's waist, and for some reason Wilson let him. He closed his eyes and felt House's lips not just brush his but press against them and coax them open. House's tongue slipped around his mouth and his hand tightened around his waist. Wilson just stood there, letting House kiss him. He slid his tongue around House's a bit but other than that didn't kiss back. He kept his eyes closed and breathed through his nose, trying to get comfortable with this new unusual amount of closeness. And he waited for it to be over so he could try and read House's face, figure out what he wanted.

When House finally pulled away, Wilson heard his words echo in his head. "_Actions speak louder than words, Jimmy_."

Wilson looked at House, whose expression was neutral, waiting for Wilson's reaction before he responded with one of his own. Wilson ran a hand through his hair and then allowed himself to smile. "So, how long have you been in love with me?"

House wasn't looking at him. He was looking over his shoulder. Wilson looked back too, and became aware of all the other doctors and nurses and orderlies staring. Even everyone on the mezzanine level had stopped in their tracks to gape at their kiss.

"Don't you all have medicine to practice?" House shouted with just a hint of a smile on his face.

Slowly, somewhat guiltily, they started moving again. Orderlies pushed patients in their wheelchairs, nurses went to check on patients, doctors resumed their discussions. House caught Wilson's eye for the briefest of seconds before looking away again. Wilson remained silent. He could wait.

It was another minute before House finally answered, but he did. "A long time."

Wilson was taken aback. "I wasn't expecting an honest answer," he said without thinking.

House half-shrugged, almost smiling. "It was time."

Wilson nodded, subconsciously running a hand through his hair again. "Are you going to ride home with me?"

"I can come back for my bike later."

Wilson waited for House to fall into step next to him, on his right, and then slowly reached over and took his hand.

House jerked away, rolling his eyes at Wilson. "It doesn't mean you need to be a girl about it." This time he smiled, though, and this time it reached his eyes.


	3. Wildfire Doesn't Compare

**A/N:** [-] is GSII code for "we are now in someone else's perspective but no time has passed"

7.2—"Wildfire Doesn't Compare"

Dr. Robert Chase entered the diagnostic room where he saw his co-workers deep in conversation. He didn't need to guess to know what the conversation was about. He sat at the conference table and looked at Thirteen. "Is it true?"

"There were a lot of eyewitnesses," she responded. "Why—are you surprised?"

"More than anything, I'm surprised it's taken them this long," he said, shrugging.

"You don't seriously think they're actually together?" Foreman scoffed, looking at Chase.

"I believe it was you who said that House and Wilson would sleep together before Allison and I would and we ended up married. Like I said, surprised it's taken this long."

"This_ is_ exactly the type of thing House would do just to screw with us," Taub pointed out.

"But how would he get Wilson to play along?" Thirteen asked.

"He's a manipulator," Foreman said. "I'm sure he can get his best friend to pretend to kiss him."

"I'm pretty sure it's real," Thirteen said. "Wilson and Sam broke up again the other day. I can't see him being in the mood for House's games after that."

"So House is his rebound?" Taub asked.

The Australian cut in, "No, they've just been waiting for each other for a very long time and they've finally decided to open their eyes."

"Chase, when did you become such a romantic?" Thirteen asked, smiling at him.

"I'm not, it's just...House is in love with Wilson. House has always been in love with Wilson. You'd have to be blind not to see it."

"I've spent more time working with House than any of you have and I don't believe it," Foreman said, crossing his arms. "Aren't you guys forgetting the fact that he—that both of them are straight?"

"Bisexuality is more common than you'd think," Thirteen pointed out. "Sometimes you're not attracted equally to both sexes. I think that both of them like women more than men, but they have the capacity to be attracted to men a little bit. These attractions may not have manifested themselves if House and Wilson didn't love each other as much as they do, but they're there. And a lot of people wait until they're middle-aged to explore their sexuality."

"Can you stop right there, please?" Foreman interrupted. "The last thing I need right now is a mental image of House and Wilson exploring their sexuality."

Thirteen laughed at his comment but stopped when she noticed her boss and his maybe-lover emerging from the elevator. She nodded toward the hallway and her coworkers turned their heads around to look.

[-]

"Great, they're waiting to see if we're gonna kiss," House scowled as he walked with Wilson toward his office.

"Hey, you're the one who decided to proclaim his intentions in front of the entire hospital."

"Let's go in your office and not come out for fifteen minutes so they'll think we're having sex. Or better yet, let's go in your office and actually–"

"–House, I have a patient meeting in a few minutes. You can either let me go into my office and do my job or if you're craving affection you can kiss me goodbye before I go."

"How domestic do you think I am?"

"See you at lunch, House," Wilson dismissed, turning away from him and heading into his office.

House looked into the diagnostic room as he walked past it, and like guilty little children his fellows simultaneously pretended they weren't just staring at their boss. Chase and Taub turned to each other and started talking, Thirteen looked down at her coffee and picked it up, and Foreman started reading a medical journal that had been lying on the table. House rolled his eyes and hobbled past them to his own office.

[]

"House, why is everyone in my hospital saying that you and Wilson kissed yesterday?" Cuddy demanded, storming into his office with her hands on her hips.

"Clearly they heard what an awesome doctor being on Vicodin makes you and now they're all using it. Too bad no one warned them about the side effects of hallucination. Oh, wait..."

"House, I'm serious. Yesterday Wilson approaches me begging me to help him hide from you, and today I find out that you were kissing in my hospital. What's going on?"

House shrugged. "You got me. I was looking at you the other day and I thought, 'She doesn't have enough stress in her life. What can I do to make things more difficult for her?' And then it came to me: convince the hospital that Wilson and I are dating. It shouldn't be that hard; half the hospital already thinks we're together, all they need is confirmation. All I had to do was convince Wilson to play along and here we have it."

She crossed her arms in front of her partially-exposed chest and looked at him. "If you were doing this just to mess with me, then you wouldn't admit to doing it just to mess with me."

"Unless I knew admitting I'm messing with you would make you think I'm not messing with you, thereby messing with you even more."

She shook her head at him. "Just...go do your clinic hours until I find you a case, House."

"You're the boss," he said, surprising her as he got up and hobbled away. She caught a self-satisfied smirk on his face as he passed her. She followed him out of the office to make sure he was really going to the clinic, but changed her mind halfway to the elevators and knocked on Wilson's door instead.

"Come in," he greeted, expecting a patient but it was Cuddy. She looked at him and sighed before sitting down in the chair in front of his desk.

"Could you please tell me what's going on with you and House?"

He squirmed a bit in his chair and evaded her question. "Why, what'd he tell you?"

"That he's just trying to mess with me. Not that I expected a real answer." She sighed again.

He leaned forward, concerned. "What's the matter, Lisa?"

"Nothing, just..." she looked at Wilson. "I don't understand why you two would kiss. You're straight—I know House is straight, he's been hitting on me since the day he walked into the hospital, and you're such a flirt–"

"–It's real, Lisa," Wilson interjected. "He kissed me and I kissed back. It wasn't about you, or the hospital. It's about me and House. It's been building up for a long time and it finally happened. He...he loves me." He smiled a bit sheepishly.

Cuddy looked at him but didn't say anything else before she got up and left.

[]

House smirked as Wilson strode in. "I knew you'd come looking for office sex eventually."

"House, what did you tell her?" Wilson asked, furrowing his brow.

"I..." he shrugged, "may or may not have led her to believe that I orchestrated the entire thing as a prank on her."

Wilson rolled his eyes, his hands on his hips.

"Why, what'd you tell her?" House asked, reaching for his cane and getting up.

"The truth, obviously."

"I see. And which one of us do you think she believed?"

"Probably you."

House gave Wilson a look that showed he clearly didn't believe him.

"I'm serious, House," Wilson continued, sitting down. "After I told her it was real she didn't say anything, she just left. She's used to you lying her, but it was like she was trying to understand why I would lie to her."

"Because I'm such a great catch you'd want to pretend I'm yours even if I wasn't."

House caught Wilson's eye when he said that, and Wilson couldn't help smiling. House was giving him a look, not just a look, _that_ look, with a glint in his eye that conveyed a hint of desire and even love, though he'd deny it if asked. He forced himself to return his focus to the conversation they were having, though it took him a moment to remember what it was about.

"House, I think it was more like she didn't want to believe me. I think she'd rather believe it's some joke, something to do with her. I mean, you do stuff like this all the time to get her attention. As much as it irritates her, on some level I think it pleases her to know that you care so much about her to plan out your schemes to mess with her."

"So Cuddy thinks that I kissed you just to flirt with her? And here I am thinking _I'm_ the messed up one."

Wilson chuckled. "Well it's probably easier for her to accept that than the fact that for once, _you've_ moved on. She's used to being the one you pursue, and kissing me threatens the status quo relationship you have with her."

House grinned. "Excellent, she's jealous. Well if that's the way she reacts from just hearing that we kissed, imagine the look on her face if she catches us doing it in her office–"

"–And your imagination is the only place that's going to be," Wilson replied, looking at House sternly.

"You're no fun, Wilson."

At that point there was a knock on the door: the inner door separating House's office from the diagnostic room. House and Wilson looked through the glass wall to see Thirteen standing at the door with a file in her hand. Chase, Taub, and Foreman were behind her, but looking over her shoulder.

"And now the ducklings want to check and make sure they're not interrupting anything before they come barging in. Could this day get any better?"

"Mmm, I could think of a few ways," Wilson said, grinning as he got up.

"Why Wilson," House smirked, watching the oncologist. "All right, I'll stall them while you go down to your office and–"

"–You're not getting office sex, House," Wilson said as he opened House's door.

A few heads turned, including those of House's team, and Wilson realized exactly how loudly the words had come out. He blushed and went to his office, not looking at anyone, while House grinned after him.

"Nope," House muttered to himself, answering his own question. "That cinched it."

[]

They always looked at him during differentials; he was the boss and the one they had to convince that their diagnoses made sense. This time was more than looking, they were staring at him. It was like the time a male patient had started lactating and he'd put the milk in his coffee just for their reaction. They'd stared shamelessly then and they stared shamelessly now. Just like everyone who'd been present to witness his and Wilson's kiss yesterday. House liked attention when he was in the mood for it, when he tried to be the center of attention, but this thing with Wilson wasn't him trying to get attention. It was him trying to be happy for once in his life. The grin he'd worn earlier had been replaced by a scowl, not helped by the fact that the fellows didn't have any good theories about what was wrong with the patient. Of course they couldn't think right; they were too caught up in wondering about their boss's sex life. He'd noticed the way they'd been watching him, him and Wilson, all day and his scowl became more pronounced. It was as though his life were a television show or something.

He kept waiting for them to ask him if he and Wilson were really together, except that everyone in the room knew that whoever asked that question would only get a death glare and a deflection, not a real answer. Even so, it might have broken some of the tension. However, the elephant in the room remained ignored by all and eventually the team scattered to go perform tests.

[]

"I'm convinced," Taub said as he and Foreman looked at images of the patient's brain.

"It can't be neurological, there's nothing here."

Taub looked at him, but he was still watching the computer monitors. "I meant House and Wilson."

Foreman didn't respond, so Taub continued. "We were all looking at him, wanting to ask and we didn't. If it was just a prank to screw with us and Cuddy, he would have enjoyed watching us struggle to contain our curiosity. He didn't. He just looked pissed off."

"This is House we're talking about. He _always_ looks pissed off."

"Except when he's found a way to entertain himself. Then he looks...slightly less pissed off. And didn't you see him in the room with Wilson? He didn't look pissed off then. He looked...almost happy." Taub chuckled to himself. "It's hard to imagine House in love, but if he ever was...I think that's what it would look like."

"The scans are clean," Foreman said. "Come on, let's get her out of there."

[]

"It's not gonna work."

"What part of it isn't going to work?" Thirteen asked, looking at Chase. "Just knock on the door and ask if House is in there, and then just casually ask if it's true."

"Why don't you do it?"

"I don't trust myself not to laugh," she answered, grinning.

"It's not that funny."

"It kind of is."

Chase looked over toward Wilson's office and then looked back at Thirteen. "He'll just see right through me."

"So what if he does? Either way you'll have your answer."

"What if he gets offended?"

"Wilson? Come on, he's not gonna be offended. He knows what House is like, he understands that the only way we'll ever know for sure is if we ask him. Just do it, Chase, before House shows up and we don't have an excuse anymore."

"All right, fine," Chase sighed, bracing himself before knocking on Wilson's door. Thirteen moved out of sight from the doorway so Wilson wouldn't see her and get suspicious. She was still grinning and trying to hold back laughter.

"Come in," Wilson's voice said, and Chase stepped slowly into the office.

"Hi," he said awkwardly.

Wilson looked up at him. "Hi?" he waited for rest of Chase's statement.

"I was just...looking for House and I thought he might be in here."

Wilson's eyes did a sweep of his office before landing back on Chase. "Well, clearly he isn't." If House had said the words they might have been snarky, but coming from Wilson the tone was mostly confused and a bit suspicious.

"Right, well...do you...know where he is, then?"

Wilson shrugged. "Uh, Cuddy's office? The cafeteria? The clinic? You probably know better than me. I never need to go looking for him; he's usually the one that finds me."

"Okay, I'll check there, then," Chase replied, unsure of what else to say. Wilson turned back to his paperwork and Chase knew he'd been dismissed. He turned back toward the door but before he opened it he glanced at Wilson again. "Look, I know it's none of my business, but–"

"–Yes, Chase, we're dating," Wilson said without looking up.

Chase grinned involuntarily, more at the fact that he'd accomplished his mission than anything else, and closed the door behind him.

[]

House waited with Wilson in front of the elevators. When the doors opened and his team got off, he saw their knowing smiles and rolled his eyes before turning to Wilson. "You just couldn't keep your mouth shut, could you?" he asked. He watched the fellows head back to the diagnostic room. They kept glancing back at him, still smiling except for Foreman, who was just smirking.

"It wasn't my fault. Chase interrogated me."

"Oh, please. What, did he and Foreman play good cop bad cop?"

"No, he was by himself, pretending to look for you."

"Okay, Wilson."

Wilson looked down and House's gaze followed his. House had taken his hand. Wilson looked at him questioningly. "What was this about not being a girl?"

"Oh, please." House rolled his eyes. "I'm not doing it for your benefit. We're about to pass Cuddy's office. I want to see the look on her face."

Wilson scoffed. "So she was right the whole time."

"No, you gave me the idea. Besides, I want to see firsthand if she's actually jealous."

Wilson rolled his eyes back but didn't let go of House's hand. As they walked by, he watched House trying to gauge Cuddy's reaction without being obvious about it.

[-]

Though she intuitively always knew when House was right outside her office, she didn't usually look up. She'd made a habit out of pretending to ignore him for as long as possible. She wasn't even sure why she looked up this time. She saw them holding hands but didn't let herself react. She could see House's sidelong glance at her and didn't want to give him the satisfaction. As they passed his head turned back to Wilson, and she could watch them leave. She sighed and got out her phone.

"Call Lucas," she instructed. She ignored the fact that her voice was a bit shaky. The phone rang three times before she changed her mind and hung up. She shook her head, put the phone back on her desk, and returned to her paperwork.


	4. Dinner—d–i–s–a–s–t–e–r—Dinner

**Credit Where Credit is Due:**

Thanks to anna-garny for pointing out that Foreman should have a talk with Cuddy about the House/Wilson thing and paulac45 for suggesting a loft scene—I ended up really liking my loft scene and I hope you all do too.

7.3—"Dinner–D-i-s-a-s-t-e-r–Dinner"

Wilson's face was stuffed into the pillow, his mouth slightly open. The covers were off down to the backs of his knees, and his butt was sort of in the air. If he hadn't been asleep, it would probably have been very uncomfortable.

In another room, two feet and a cane moved stealthily toward an organ bench, making as little noise as possible. A denim-clad butt sat itself down on the bench and long, nimble fingers placed themselves over the keys.

On Wilson's nightstand, a digital clock changed from 6:49 to 6:50. The sound of the organ pierced the silence, its melody traveling through the condo to jolt Wilson from his slumber. He jumped, looked around confusedly, and then smiled to himself. The music continued as he reached for the alarm clock and flipped the switch to OFF, and as he entered the attached master bathroom and showered. He left the door opened so that he could still hear the organ through his morning routine (not like House hadn't seen him naked before anyway), and he kept his hairdryer on low power for the same reason.

After looking in his mirror to make sure his tie was straight, Wilson headed for the kitchen, watching House play with something akin to fascination. He made eggs and toast, unconsciously swaying his body a bit to the music, and poured orange juice and coffee. He set two places at the breakfast bar and then made his way over to House. The diagnostician was still playing the organ, but Wilson placed a hand on his side and warmly kissed the back of his neck.

House ceased playing immediately and spun around on the bench. "What was that for?" he asked accusingly, as though Wilson needed a reason to kiss him good morning.

The oncologist smiled and handed him his cane. "Thanking you for the early morning serenade."

House scoffed and rolled his eyes. "Please. That wasn't a _serenade_. I don't do the sappy romantic stuff, remember?"

"Sounded like a serenade to me," Wilson shrugged, going back to the kitchen to eat his breakfast.

"I woke you up!" House argued, sitting down and scowling at his eggs. "And no bacon?"

"Well, it was a much more pleasant sound to wake up to than the blaring of my alarm clock. And your heart doesn't need the bacon."

"Your alarm doesn't go off until seven," House pointed out. "I robbed you of ten precious minutes of sleep."

"A reasonable price to pay," Wilson shrugged, cutting his eggs neatly.

House's shoulders sagged; he looked crestfallen. "I did it to _annoy _you!"

"You keep telling yourself that, House," Wilson replied, smiling at him over his newspaper.

House grumbled to himself as he bit into his toast but once Wilson's face disappeared behind the newspaper he half-smiled.

[]

The diagnostician looked up from his reading material and smiled when he saw who had just entered his office. Yeah, he sometimes did that now. Smiled. He was in love, wasn't he allowed to smile sometimes? It wasn't like anyone but Wilson could see, anyway.

"I want to throw a dinner party."

The smile disappeared.

"Wait, hear me out, please. I'll do all the work, there will be good food and I'll clean up and everything. All I want you to do is be there. And be...somewhat pleasant."

"Me, unpleasant?" he asked innocently. Then he glared again. "Is this punishment for waking you up?"

"No, House, it has nothing to do with that. I've been wanting to host a dinner party for a while now."

House inspected him carefully. "Exactly how gay are you?"

Wilson rolled his eyes. "House, please?"

"You're asking my permission? It is your condo, you know."

"It's our condo and I'm asking you to please be present at my dinner party and...you know...behave."

House didn't answer right away. He looked Wilson up and down as he considered the pros and cons. His eyes paused at Wilson's face, at his crotch, and then his face again. He sighed. "When?"

Wilson's face lit up. "Oh, House, thank you!"

House rolled his eyes as Wilson made his way around the desk, but he got up off the chair so he could grab Wilson's ass when he kissed him.

"Friday night," Wilson added when they pulled away.

"And who's gonna be there?"

"I haven't talked to anyone yet—I wanted to check with you first—but I'm inviting Cuddy and Lucas and...your team."

House groaned loudly.

"Well, they can bring dates," Wilson said quickly. "You don't have to talk to them too much. Taub can bring his wife, and maybe Remy–"

"–Who?"

"_Thirteen_ will bring a hot lesbian date. That'd make the night worth it, wouldn't it?"

"I guess," House conceded. He went for Wilson's lips again.

_Tap, tap, tap_, someone knocked on the glass door.

"Go away, we're in the middle of a make out session!" House yelled at the door.

"Would you cut it out, House, we have a case," Foreman sighed, entering despite House's objection.

"I'm _busy_," House objected, placing his hand very obviously on Wilson's ass.

"House, go solve your case," Wilson smiled. "I'll see you at home, 'kay?" He pecked House on the lips and exited the room with both men glaring after him.

After he left, Foreman turned to House. "Why do you keep doing that?"

House looked at him like he was two. "Well, Eric, when two people love each other very much–"

"–When I was dating Remy we didn't kiss each other all over the hospital."

"Only because you weren't ballsy enough to try and push me that far. I mean even Chase and Cameron have had sex in an exam room."

"So you're testing Cuddy?"

"Well obviously I'm testing you. But what's great about it is you don't get to reprimand me for it."

Foreman stared at him for a minute. "We have a case," he said finally.

[]

"Come in," she sighed. It was Foreman, which meant that it was about House. She sighed again, pinching the bridge of her nose. It was always about House. Why was it always about House?

"What did he do now?" she asked once he sat down in front of her desk.

"I don't know, it's just that he and Wilson, they keep kissing all over the place and...I don't know, isn't there some PDA rule or something?"

"Are they still doing that?" she asked, leaning back in her chair and sighing. "It's been like two weeks. Aren't they over that yet?"

"Wait," Foreman said, frowning. "Is it some sort of act or are they actually together?"

"Of course they're not actually together!" Cuddy said as though the idea were ludicrous. "All right, I don't know why Wilson's playing along and I'm not sure why House is doing it in the first place, but I am sure it's not real."

"House...said he loved Wilson," Foreman admitted. "I mean, he said it lightly, but he did say it."

"When?"

"When I asked him why they kept kissing."

Cuddy looked straight forward for a moment, not quite at Foreman, not quite at anything. She shook her head. "This is ridiculous. I'm going to talk to Wilson about it. I'm going to figure out exactly what's going on."

[]

"Come in," Wilson said cheerfully. "Hey, Lisa," he greeted as she sat down. "What's up?"

"Wilson, listen to me," she said, rubbing her temple. "This...whatever you and House are doing...I don't know what's going on, but it's getting old. It has to stop."

Wilson was clearly taken aback. He stared at her for a moment, mouth agape, and then his eyes narrowed. "Excuse me? I think you should repeat yourself, because I'm pretty sure you did not just say what I thought you said."

"Wilson, give it up!" she exclaimed, exasperated. "I've had enough of you and House pretending to be lovers. It's immature and ridiculous. I expect this kind of behavior from him, but I don't know how he got you to go along with it. Either way, it ends today."

He stood up, glaring down at Cuddy. "I think you should leave now."

"No," she countered, standing up as well. "I'm not going anywhere until you tell me that you and House are going to stop pretending to be a couple at work."

"We're not pretending!" Wilson shouted, irate. "That you would even suggest...that you have the gall to tell us we have to...you know, I was _going_ to invite you and Lucas to a dinner party that House and I are throwing _as a couple_, but if you really think that idea is _immature and ridiculous_–"

"–You're throwing a dinner party?" she asked, curious, taking a step back.

"Yes." Wilson's anger had not abated. "Because we're _a couple._ Why do you have such a big problem with that? Are you...jealous or something?"

"I'm not jealous!" she retaliated, her brows furrowing and her anger returning. "Straight men don't just suddenly turn gay because it's convenient for them to fall in love with their best friends!"

"We've always been that way," snapped Wilson. "He just doesn't generally share details of his personal life with anyone and I've spent years in denial. But I'm done with that now, I've admitted it to myself and even though it's none of your business I'll admit it to you. I love him. I'm in love with him. And you can deny it all you want to, but it's the truth. We're together. That's not going to change to suit your convenience." He sat back down on his desk. "If you can just open your mind enough accept that at face value," he said curtly, "we'd be happy to see you at _our_ condo on Friday at seven."

Cuddy apparently couldn't think of anything to say that, because she turned on her heel and left in a huff.

[]

"Oh, great, what's he pissed about now?" Chase muttered to Thirteen as House entered the differential room looking murderous.

She shrugged and took her seat at the conference table with her co-workers, all of them looking up curiously at their boss.

"All right, listen up, minions," House addressed them. "I don't like you and you don't like me. And if you do I don't care and I don't wanna hear about it. But I'm supposed to invite you to some stupid dinner party that Wilson's throwing on Friday. If any of you don't show up you're taking over my clinic hours for the next month, _capisce_? Oh, and you–" he looked at Taub, "are supposed to bring your wife. You–" he looked at Thirteen, "had better bring a hot date. You–" he looked at Chase and Foreman and shrugged. "bring booze. Lots of booze."

[]

Chase tried the front door and it opened without conflict. He turned to Thirteen, surprised. "Well that was easy. Now it's not even breaking in."

"Yeah, unless someone's home," she pointed out, peering inside.

The lights were out, though, and the house was quiet.

"So, are you going to House's dinner party?" Chase asked as they wandered through the place looking for samples to take.

Thirteen shrugged. "I guess. I wouldn't put it past him to mean it about the clinic hours thing, and besides, Wilson's nice. It might be fun. Are you going?"

"Yeah, I guess. Same reasons. Okay, pretty much anything in this refrigerator could be what's poisoning our patient," he said, crinkling his nose at the smell.

Thirteen coughed and handed him some sample bags. "You can do the honors. I'll check the bathroom."

Chase made sure to leave the door unlocked as he'd found it. "So, are you really bringing a hot date to the dinner?"

She scoffed good-naturedly and rolled her eyes at Chase. "I'm not giving him the satisfaction. Besides, I'll have you to talk to anyway."

"Do you want to..." Chase shrugged, "just go with me, then?"

Thirteen raised her eyebrows at him. "Like a date?" she asked, smirking.

Chase rolled his eyes. "No, not a date, just...I don't know, two co-workers going to their boss's dinner party together. You know, carpooling. Saving energy."

She laughed. "All right, Chase, I'll go with you." She scrutinized him. "I can still call you Chase, right? I don't have to call you Robert?"

He grinned. "As long as I still get to call you Thirteen."

[]

Wilson opened the door and Cuddy handed him a bottle of wine.

"I was a jerk, all right?" she apologized, "I'm sorry. You were right. I should never have assumed that you and House would pretend to be a couple for...any reason. Can you please forgive me?"

He sighed and looked down at his boss. "Yeah, all right," he decided, smiling. "Come on in."

Cuddy tugged on Lucas's hand and led him into the entrance hall, looking around a bit enviously because this was the condo _she_ wanted, but she decided to drop the matter. They would find another place they liked soon enough.

House was in the kitchen chopping vegetables cheerfully. She half-expected him to grin at her, high-five Wilson, and shout "Gotcha!" but he didn't. Wilson passed him to put the wine in the fridge and he stuffed a piece of celery into Wilson's mouth. Cuddy wondered if they were always like this or if they were acting coupley for her benefit.

The doorbell rang a few minutes later.

"Wilson! Get the door!" House shouted from the couch across from Cuddy, smiling and taking a sip of wine.

"House, I'm busy, just answer the door please." His voice was exasperated. Even though they might be a couple, at least that hadn't changed.

"I'm entertaining guests!"

"I'm cooking."

"But it might be Foreman!"

"Or it might be Thirteen with her hot lesbian date."

"I'm crippled!"

"House." He used his warning voice.

House sighed and used his cane to push himself off the couch as though it used up every ounce of his strength. Cuddy and Wilson knew he was only pretending, though; if the pain were really that bad he wouldn't have argued that lightly.

[-]

House opened the door and stared at Thirteen and Chase standing in front of him. He looked down the hall behind them very obviously.

"Uh, are you gonna let me in?" Thirteen asked once his gaze had returned to them.

"No entry without hot date."

Chase scoffed. "I'm hotter than your date."

"Blasphemy."

"House, just let them in," Wilson called from the kitchen.

House glared at Thirteen. "This isn't over."

She rolled her eyes and stepped inside.

[]

House was returning from the bathroom when Cuddy confronted him. She wasn't sure if the three glasses of wine contributed to this decision, but she'd been watching him with Wilson all evening and needed to know.

Everyone else was in the living room, talking and laughing and eating dessert. She cornered him in the bedroom with her hands on her hips.

House saw her and rolled his eyes. "What did I do this time?"

"We need to talk, House."

"I did all my clinic hours this week!" he answered indignantly.

"Not about that," she said, rolling her eyes. She lowered her voice. "About you and Wilson."

"Oh god, not this again," House replied, rolling his eyes back. "Listen, you're too late. If you'd changed your mind a few months ago then I would have given you a chance, but I'm with him now."

"Please," she said. "This has nothing to do with me. This is about him. He's serious about it. He thinks it's real."

"It is real!" he shouted, his frustration getting the better of him. Wilson had told him about their confrontation in his office. "Why is that so goddam hard for you to accept?"

"Because you're in love with me!" she shouted back. There were tears in her eyes.

He looked her over slowly. "I was in love with you. Past tense, Cuddy. I told you. You're too late."

"Oh my god, House, this isn't about me wanting you–"

"–Of course it is!" He'd been about to go back to the party but he stopped in his tracks, turned around, and glared at her. "When it's me that wants you, no, I'm too screwed up to have in your life, but when someone else wants me, all of a sudden I'm not allowed to be in love with anyone other than you! You can't accept that I'm really with Wilson because you're jealous!"

"I am not jealous!"

A creak as the door opened; both doctors stared at it. Wilson and Lucas's faces appeared in the hallway. Wilson simply looked concerned; Lucas was visibly upset.

"Lucas..." Cuddy said, her voice breaking. Her eyes pleaded with him. "It's not true, what he said. I'm not jealous. I'm not." Tears streamed down her face.

He didn't answer her, but studied House.

"She's all yours," House said stiffly, shrugging. "I'm spoken for."

Cuddy let out a dry sob, not looking away from Lucas's face.

Lucas sighed and reached an arm out for her, and she hurried into it, wrapping her arms around his neck. It looked like she was trying to fold herself into him. "I'm not jealous of Wilson," she whispered. "It's not true. I'm not."

"I know," he said to her hair. "Come on, we should..." he looked up to catch Wilson's eye, and nodded toward the door. "We should go."

Wilson nodded, rubbing his temple with his hand. Though they weren't touching, House had moved to stand next to him.

[]

House groaned, cursing his leg. Cuddy was approaching his office. He got up, grabbing his cane, and tried to escape through the conference room. It proved to be a wasted effort, however, because she made it in before he even got to the door.

He noticed that she was a bit of a wreck, but he didn't really care. Why should he? So now she was regretting rejecting him? Well too bad for her. He was with Wilson now. He didn't need her. She had her chance and she blew it. And House was damn grateful for it. If they'd started dating and hadn't broken up by now, he would never have gotten together with Wilson. He'd always assumed he'd end up with her, but that was before he knew how Wilson felt about him. And now that he did know, it wasn't even a choice to make. Of course it would be Wilson. It would always be Wilson. When had House ever risked his life for Cuddy's happiness?

She was a wreck, though. Her hair wasn't curled or straightened; it just hung limply around her face. Her makeup was mussed, and even her breasts had lost their perkiness. She stood in front of him and looked him in the eye.

"I'm jealous," she confessed, immediately looking away before working up the courage again. She raised her arms slightly and then let them fall at her sides. "You were right. Wilson was right. I...I don't want you to be with him." She took a step forward. Even with her heels, she was shorter than him. She kept her head at a slight incline to maintain eye contact. Her voice broke a bit as she whispered, "I want you to be with me." She stepped forward again and pressed her lips against his.

House didn't touch her. He didn't move. He just stood there, waiting for it to be over. Finally she stepped back, wiping her eyes. House didn't look at her. His eyes wandered past her, over her shoulder, and through the glass walls of his office where he saw Wilson standing, staring at them. His eyes caught his lover's for a second, and he shook his head, telling Wilson it wasn't what it looked like. Wilson either misinterpreted the gesture or ignored it. He turned on his heel and stalked off toward the elevator.


	5. Preemptive Strike

**A/N: **I really like this chapter, so hopefully you will too. It's pretty long, but there is a long scene with Wilson's patient. I know I don't usually do patient scenes, but you'll see why I did it when you get there. It seemed like a good idea, and it kind of seems like something that would actually happen in the show. Maybe. Anyway, enjoy.

7.4—"Preemptive Strike"

The door creaked as House entered the condo.

"Oh, good, you're here," Wilson said, approaching the entrance hall. He handed the older doctor an overnight bag. "You can leave now. There's your toothbrush, your meds, a change of clothes for tomorrow, and box of saltines in case Cuddy doesn't feed you."

"Wilson, come on," House sighed, setting his backpack on the ground and massaging his temple with his free hand. "I'm not spending the night with Cuddy."

"Why not?" Wilson's hands were on his hips without even thinking about it. He didn't know he probably looked just like on of his ex-wives confronting him about cheating. "If that spectacle in your office was any indication, that's what you want."

"Give me a break," House said, rolling his eyes. "You know that's not what I want."

He tried to step closer to Wilson, but the oncologist backed away.

"Don't. Don't touch me. I don't care if you go to Cuddy's or not. Just leave. I don't want to look at you right now."

House was used to hiding his feelings. Even when something really hurt him, he didn't show it. This was the case now.

He averted his eyes from Wilson, in case there was some unintentional emotion showing through, and asked slowly, "You don't want me anymore?"

If House had been looking at him, he would have seen Wilson's face falter for a second before becoming stoic again. He crossed his arms in front of his chest. "Not if you're gonna be making out with other people."

"She kissed me!" House exploded, glaring at him. "I didn't kiss back! I told her the other night—she had her chance and she blew it, she's too late and I don't want her anymore!" His mind completed,_ it was you I really wanted from the start, anyway_, but he couldn't say that.

"You didn't kiss back," Wilson repeated in disbelief. "Maybe I was too far away to observe any movements of tongues, but you sure as hell didn't push her away."

"She surprised me. I didn't move. I just stood there and waited for her to finish. I didn't kiss back because I don't have any interest in kissing her." He looked at Wilson, his eye contact adding the sentence, _I only have interest in kissing you_.

Wilson still had his arms folded. "I don't know," he said. "You've always loved Cuddy, House, don't deny it. You've loved her before you even met me. When you got out of Mayfield, you pursued her, not me."

"I didn't know you were interested," House pointed out. "You never said anything—how was I supposed to know you wanted me back? I'm not gonna deny that I loved her, Wilson, but that doesn't mean—do you really need me to say it? Seriously? You don't know it by now?"

"Why is it so difficult for you to say?" Wilson pestered, his tone carrying a note of accusation. "I tell you I love you all the time."

"You already know it," House retaliated. "And it's not gonna change. You should know that too. I shouldn't have to say it."

"You should _want _to say it."

"You should be secure enough in our relationship that I shouldn't have to say it."

"Maybe my security in our relationship got threatened by you _kissing _another person."

"I didn't kiss her!" House hollered. "_She_ kissed _me_! I can't control the actions of another person!"

"You can control your own actions," Wilson retorted.

"And I did. I _didn't_ kiss her back, Wilson. How many times do you need me to say it?"

For a moment they just stood there, breathing heavily and looking at each other. House made another attempt to close the space between himself and Wilson, but Wilson backed away again. He shook his head at the diagnostician. "You say you didn't kiss her back. Fine, I believe you. You didn't kiss her back this time. How do I know you won't kiss her back next time?"

House looked at him with disbelief. "You don't trust me? You seriously don't trust me? For god's sake, Wilson, you're the last person in the world with the right to lecture someone about cheating!"

"This isn't about me!" Wilson shouted, enraged. "I haven't cheated on you, House! And I'm not going to!"

"Sure!" House scoffed. "How long's that gonna last? You've made it one entire month without cheating, congratulations. That must be a personal record for you. Do you want a little chip to carry in your pocket?"

"I don't need this," snapped Wilson. "I haven't done anything, _anything_, to give you cause for doubt. My assistant actually asked me the other day if she's done something wrong because I've been so careful not to flirt she took it for unfriendliness. But no, you're so sure I'm going to screw up you're not even going to give me a chance. Because you're so sure that people never change. You think I'm always going to cheat? Well I think you're always going be a miserable misanthropic bastard. Screw you, House."

The door slammed before House had a chance to register it. He reopened it immediately, hobbling into the hallway. "Wilson!" he shouted. "Come back!"

The stairwell door also slammed and House cursed his leg as he pressed the down button on the elevator. By the time the elevator got to the ground floor, Wilson was gone. House didn't even get a chance to see which way his car went. Sighing heavily, House pressed the up button for the elevator.

[]

Wilson didn't need to look up from his desk to know who it was. Even before they'd become lovers, House had been the only person to strut into Wilson's office whenever he felt like it without knocking.

"I don't want to talk to you."

"I don't care. We need to talk."

"Right, I forgot, since when do you care for another person?" Wilson scoffed, looking up angrily. He wasn't nearly as put-together as usual; the hotel brand shampoo and hairdryer couldn't cut it, and the extra dress shirt and tie he kept at work in case of emergencies were almost wrinkled.

"Wilson, don't–"

"–No, you don't," he cut House off. "I don't want to talk to you. Leave."

His glare took House aback. Wilson didn't usually look at him like that. His eyes looked angry and hurt. There was no forgiveness (even though House hadn't even _done_ anything), and House couldn't find a trace of affection either.

That stung more than words could.

"Fine. You don't want me, you don't want me. Have a nice life." He stomped out of the office.

[]

When he stormed into her office, her first thought was that the glare in his eyes looked fierce enough to freeze water vapor.

"You need to go tell that_ idiot_ that used to be my boyfriend that you kissed me, I didn't kiss you back, and I am not interested in a relationship with anyone other than him."

"I don't _need_ to do anything," Cuddy retorted, standing up from her desk to draw herself to her full height. "Tell him yourself. I've got more important things to worry about than your and Wilson's relationship."

"I already told him. He's not listening to me–"

"–Gee, I wonder why that–"

"–This is your fault," House accused, striding up to her and glaring down from his taller height. "You kissed me, you started the problem, you have to fix it."

"You are in no position to tell me what I have to do," Cuddy answered, placing her small hands on her hips in a gesture that caused House a small pang of pain because it reminded him of Wilson. "When two adults in a relationship have a problem, they talk through it until they come to a solution, they don't recruit other people to fix it for them."

"The only problem is you–"

"–It's not my fault you can't have a simple adult conversation, House," she snapped. "Don't blame me for _your_ inability to maintain any sort of meaningful relationship."

[]

Wilson walked over to Exam Room Two and a confused look crossed his face when a fully dressed patient came out. Thirteen had asked for a consult—why was the patient leaving already? Maybe the patient was a child and that was her mother, just leaving the room for a minute. Wilson slipped inside only to have Thirteen close the door behind him and stand in front of it, crossing her chest with her arms. The room was empty except for them. He gave her a confused look.

"You called me for a consult?"

She shrugged, her back against the door. "Everybody lies."

He looked at her. "What's going on?"

"House is in a mood. He hasn't been this bad since you got together. I'm guessing you had a fight. What's going on?"

"Oh, god, he put you up to this, didn't he?" Wilson asked, running fingers through his hair. "Look, I haven't got time for this, I've got patients–"

"–No, he didn't put me up to this," Thirteen countered, stepping away from the door and closer to Wilson. "He's upset. I'm concerned for him."

When he gave her a look of surprise, she rolled her eyes.

"Wilson, just because you're the only one he really lets in doesn't mean you're the only one who cares for him." Then she inspected him. "You do care for him, don't you?"

"Oh, of course I do," Wilson said, sighing and pacing around the room because he couldn't stand still.

"Well, then whatever's going on you need to get fixed," Thirteen explained, stepping beside him to catch his eye. "Not only does he make our lives miserable when he's miserable, he needs this. You need to work it out. You need to talk to him."

"And what makes you assume it's my fault?" Wilson snapped, frowning at her. "Maybe he did something to upset me."

"Did he?"

"He kissed Cuddy."

Thirteen stared at him, wide-eyed. Then she shook her head. "I don't believe that. He loves you."

"I saw them," Wilson insisted.

"Maybe you were mistaken," Thirteen suggested. "Did you talk to him about it?"

"Of course I talked to him about it." Wilson said defensively, as though he was offended by the suggestion that he would break up with House without discussing the kiss first, despite the fact that that had been his original plan.

"He admitted he kissed her?"

"Well, I mean, he said that she kissed him and he didn't kiss back, but I saw them and–"

Thirteen cut him off with a scoff, recrossing her arms and shaking her head. "And you're choosing not to believe him because that's easier."

"Easy? What, you think this is easy?" Wilson demanded.

"Easier than the alternative," Thirteen shrugged.

"Yeah, because the last few weeks of my life haven't been the happiest, they've been the most trying," Wilson said sarcastically.

"Please," Thirteen said, rolling her eyes. "This isn't about you thinking House cheated on you; it's about you being afraid you're going to cheat on him."

He stared at her. That was almost exactly what House said. That didn't make it true. He narrowed his eyes at her. "Why can't anyone give me the benefit of the doubt here? It's different with House."

"Then why aren't you giving _him_ the benefit of the doubt?" Thirteen asked. "He says he didn't want to kiss her, he means it. You're just making excuses, Wilson, because you're scared. You want to blame this on him because you're scared of screwing it up yourself."

He glared at her. "What makes you thinks this is any of your business?"

"Someone's gotta look out for him," she said. "It can't be you, because as his boyfriend, it creates a conflict of interest, and it can't be Cuddy because she's still upset about him choosing you over her. Foreman doesn't want to get too involved and Taub doesn't seem to care that much. That leaves me and Chase. He's keeping an eye on House and I get to talk with you." She leaned against the wall. "I understand why you're getting upset with me, but I'm doing it for him."

A part of Wilson understood what she meant. It reminded him of the time Cameron had convinced House to go on a date, and Wilson had confronted her beforehand to make sure she wouldn't hurt House. Thirteen was just doing the same thing. Part of him respected her for that—he loved House and didn't want him to get hurt—but what about Wilson? Who was there to look out for him and make sure he didn't get hurt? He'd been convinced that House loved him, loved him most, when they kissed and when House held him at night, but he'd still wondered, occasionally, where the older man's heart stood with Cuddy. She was a threat.

"Wilson," Thirteen said, interrupting his thoughts. He looked at her. "Are you going to talk to him?"

"I don't know," Wilson sighed, looking down. "I feel like this was a bad idea. I feel like it's just going to end with us getting hurt."

"It might," Thirteen conceded. "But you have to ask yourself," she said, and he locked eyes with her, "is he worth it?"

[]

_Tap, tap_.

"Can I come in?" Wilson asked when House looked up.

House shrugged.

Wilson sat down in front of House's desk. "All right," he said. "I may have...overreacted...to you and Cuddy kissing. I...I feel threatened by her."

"You shouldn't be," House said flatly. "I don't love her anymore, and even when I did...well, you know."

Wilson still didn't understand why House couldn't just say he loved him. Well, he decided that wasn't important, he trusted that he did, and at least now they might be okay again. "Right," Wilson said, nodding. "Well, I'll try to remember that."

"Are we okay now?" House asked, looking at him from across the desk.

"Yeah." He attempted a smile. "I forgive you."

House's expression became blank. "You forgive me?"

"Yeah."

"I don't want you to forgive me, Wilson," he said, suddenly glaring again. "I didn't _do _anything. If what I wanted was _forgiveness_, don't you think I would have apologized?"

Wilson thought back and recalled that House hadn't once said he was sorry for kissing Cuddy. His anger returned and his forgiveness evaporated. He looked back at House. "Maybe I thought you owed me an apology."

"Well I don't. Nolan told me that I shouldn't feel guilty for things I can't control. I'm not apologizing, Wilson. I didn't do anything wrong."

"You know what, forget it," Wilson said, getting up. "I came in here wanting to make amends but you just have to make everything difficult."

"Yeah, that's me, all I do is make people's lives difficult."

"Forget it," Wilson repeated. "I'm done. I give up." He stalked out of the office and his frustration increased when the glass door closed slowly behind him without slamming.

[]

Wilson decided to make his rounds, hoping that might take his mind off his fight with House. Not that the thought of children with cancer was any more cheerful than the thought of he and House being through.

Stephanie was only seven, and she had leukemia. She was still receiving treatment, and it was too early to tell if she was going to improve. Wilson could hear arguing through the door and grimaced. She was a sweet little kid, but Wilson hated it when her five-year-old brother Brandon was in the hospital with her because all they did was fight. Wilson put on his doctor smile when he entered the room. "Hey, Stephanie," he greeted. "How we doing today?"

"Brandon, let go of my blanket!" the girl ordered, glaring at her brother and ignoring Wilson. "You pinched me when you squeezed it. You're hurting me. Stop it."

"I'm sorry, Steffy," the boy said, looking distraught. "I didn't mean to."

"Just go away," she whined, putting her face in her hands. "I don't want to see you."

He didn't sob, but silent tears rolled down his cheeks. Wilson glanced at their mother, who was giving him an apologetic look. What could she do? The little girl was seven, and she was sick, and maybe she didn't need to speak to her brother that way, but she didn't need a lecture, either.

When Wilson finished checking Stephanie, he motioned her mother outside to talk. She picked up Brandon to take with them, but once they got outside the exam room he squirmed to get down and promptly went back inside with his sister. The mother sighed as she watched them argue through the glass before turning to Wilson. "How's she doing?"

"All right," Wilson said, keeping his voice level. "It's too soon to tell if there's any improvement, but so far she doesn't seem to be getting worse. I know you're doing everything you can, but..." He wasn't a parent, and he wanted to approach the issue with sensitivity. "Fighting cancer puts Stephanie's body under a lot of stress. The recovery...often works better if there are fewer outside stressors. She and Brandon...do they always fight like that? It can't be helping the situation, and it's not healthy for either of them."

The mother sighed. "I know. I don't know what to do." She watched them through the glass. "You know, they never used to be like this, ever. She's always been the most attentive and loving big sister, and Brandon just adores her. But ever since...since the diagnoses, all she does is shout at him. And the thing is, Dr. Wilson, he's never really doing anything wrong. It never used to bother her if he'd play with her toys or go into her room, but now every little thing sets her off. And every time I try to chastise her for it, she starts crying and talking about how she doesn't feel good and I just feel so guilty I can't do it."

Wilson laid a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe I can talk to her," he suggested.

She nodded.

Wilson opened the glass door. "Stephanie," he addressed the girl, "Your mom is gonna take Brandon down to the cafeteria for a snack. Is it okay if I sit and talk with you until she gets back?"

"Yeah," Stephanie agreed. "I don't want him here," she explained, pointing to her brother.

A grieved look crossed the mother's face as she took her son by the hand and led him out of the room.

Wilson sat on the edge of Stephanie's bed and looked at her. Her eyes were green and probably bright, but at the moment they were clouded with anger.

"Do you want to talk to me about your brother, Stephanie?"

She crossed her arms and pouted. "I hate him. I hate when he plays with me. He always messes everything up."

"Did he always mess everything up?" Wilson asked gently. "Your mom told me that before you got sick, the two of you got along very well."

"I know," she whispered, not catching Wilson's eye.

"So..." Wilson prodded softly, "around the time you got sick, he started doing things to annoy you?"

She nodded at her knees, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Stephanie, are you okay?" Wilson asked, placing a hand on her arm.

Her chin quivered as she met Wilson's eyes. "I don't hate him," she whispered. "I just...yell at him a lot so he'll leave me alone. I pretend I'm mad at him so maybe he won't love me anymore. But even when I yell at him, he doesn't leave me alone."

"I think he just wants to help you get better," Wilson pointed out. "Maybe instead of yelling at him, you could explain that your parents that you need some alone time. You're getting older, too. We all find that we need some more privacy as we get older, and especially when we're not feeling good. But sometimes, especially when we're upset, it makes us feel better to have someone we love with us."

"It's not that," Stephanie said, shaking her head. Tears streamed down her face. "I do want to play with him. I'm not really mad when he goes into my room, or when he spills juice on me by accident. When...when I was five I had chicken pox, and we still played together and he got sick too. He got sicker than I did. But this is worse than chicken pox. I didn't have to go to the hospital for chicken pox. I want him to think I'm mad at him so he won't play with me anymore." Her voice trembled. "I don't want him to get sick."

Wilson's heart broke, and he reached for her as she started crying. "Stephanie, it's okay," he said, rubbing the child's back. "Brandon's not gonna get leukemia just because you have it. It doesn't work like that. It's not contagious. Do you know what that word means?"

She nodded and wiped her eyes as Wilson pulled away from her. "'Contagious' means that if you're around someone who's sick, you get sick too."

"That's right," Wilson said. "But the sickness you have isn't like that. It's not contagious. Stephanie, you can play with Brandon all you want and he won't get leukemia just because you have it."

Her face broke into a watery smile. "Really? He won't get sick? You promise?"

Wilson held her hand. "I can't promise that he won't get sick, Stephanie. We don't know why people get sick. Brandon probably won't get cancer. But even if he does, Stephanie, I promise it won't be from playing with you."

She smiled and leaned over to hug him again. He returned the hug gently. "When Brandon comes back, I want you to tell him you love him. Can you do that, Stephanie?"

She nodded. "Thank you for telling me I can play with him again, Dr. Wilson."

Wilson met her mother at the door when she returned and ushered her outside. "You have a very selfless little girl in there," Wilson said, smiling at her.

The mother looked confused. "What did she say?"

"She doesn't actually get mad at Brandon for any of the things he does. She was just trying to protect him. She thought she would get him sick, so she tried to drive him away."

"Oh..." the mother said, her shoulders relaxing. She wiped a tear from her eye and looked through the glass at her children. She smiled and whispered, more to herself than to Wilson, "I hoped we were doing something right."

[]

"I'm scared," Wilson admitted, accosting House about to leave his office for the night.

House looked at him.

"I don't blame you for what happened with Cuddy. I don't think I ever did. I was just...looking for an excuse to break up, and to make it your fault, because I'm scared." Wilson sighed. "I'm scared I'll screw it up somehow. Cheat on you. I don't know. I don't want to, House, I swear it's the last thing in the world I want to do. You mean too much to me. I don't want to lose you. And I don't want to hurt you. I want to promise that it will be different with you and that I'll never cheat, but I can't. I've made that promise before and I broke it. I can only promise that I'll try. I..." he wasn't crying, but his voice broke for some reason. "I don't want to screw it up. With you, I don't want to screw it up. Can you..." he sighed and looked up at House, his eyes pleading. "Can you give me a chance?"

House caught his eye and looked at him for a moment. Eventually he shrugged. "We made it this far."

Wilson decided to take that as an affirmative. He threw his arms around House and kissed his lips, deeply and passionately. House closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around Wilson, kissing back with equal force. He pulled back for a moment, just to look into Wilson's eyes before going in for another kiss, but Wilson used the time he had his mouth free to whisper, "I love you." House's mouth twitched in a smile before he kissed him again, and ran his fingers through Wilson's soft brown hair.

While kissing, Wilson managed to extract his cell phone from his pocket.

[-]

Thirteen was on the first floor with a bag over her shoulder. She heard her phone buzz and glanced at it. It showed a text from Wilson, 'Thanks.' She smiled and placed the phone back in her bag.

"Hey," Chase said from behind.

She looked over his shoulder at him. "Hey."

"You leaving?"

"Yup."

"You..." he shrugged, "want a ride home?"

"I do have a car here," she pointed out.

"Not what I asked," Chase replied.

"Uh-huh," she said, nodding. "And...how do I get to work tomorrow?"

Chase shrugged again. "Well, we can worry about that tomorrow."

She gave him a half-smile, half-smirk, and he put his arm around her shoulders and walked her out the door.

[-]

Cuddy wasn't even on the fourth floor for Wilson or House. There were plenty of offices up there. The fact that she walked by House's office was purely coincidence. The fact that the glass doors gave her a clear view of two of her department heads groping each other (fine, they were just kissing, but her brain exaggerated it) caused her to stop in her tracks and temporarily forget why she was up here in the first place. Then she shook her head, turned resolutely away from House's office, and continued on her way. She slipped her cell phone out of her lab coat pocket as she walked.

[-]

Lucas was in his office watching TV with his feet on his desk. He saw his phone vibrating on his desk and glanced at the TV for a second before he picked it up. He'd received a text message.

'I'm sorry. Can we talk?'

**A/N:** BTW, as you're reading the ending scenes, if you like you can imagine background music playing, you know, just like they do in real episodes. It can start with House and Wilson kissing, get softer when Chase and Thirteen are talking, and then pick back up with the Cuddy and Lucas parts. Yeah, I have this all planned out.


	6. Explanations

7.5—"Explanations"

The phone rang.

"Wilson, get the phone!" House shouted, not moving from the couch. His hand rubbed his thigh absently.

"House, I'm about to take a shower," Wilson shouted back over the spray. "You can answer the phone."

"What if it's for you?" House responded.

"Then I'm probably going to have to send an apology card to the caller. Either answer it or let it go to voicemail. I'm taking a shower."

House grabbed the phone to check the caller ID.

'Carr, Samantha'

House's face cracked into an evil grin and he glanced back to the hallway to make sure Wilson wasn't coming.

"House-Wilson residence."

_"House? It's Sam. May I speak to James, please?"_

"N...no, you may not," House said, enjoying himself.

_"Excuse me? Why not?"_

"Well firstly, because he's in the shower. But also because he's not your boy-toy anymore. He's mine. And I never share my toys."

He could hear her scoff over the phone and guessed she was also rolling her eyes. _"Could you ask him to call me back, please?"_

"I _could_," House replied, mentally completing, _but we both know I won't._

She sighed, _"Goodbye, House,"_ and hung up the phone without waiting for him to respond.

"Who called?" Wilson asked after his shower, catching House's eye in the bathroom mirror while he towel-dried his hair.

"Wrong number," House replied, breaking eye contact with the Wilson in the mirror so his eyes could scan its body, which was only covered by a white towel around the waist.

"Don't think about it," Wilson warned. "I just took a shower—House!"

"I just want to assert my ownership of you," House said innocently. He hadn't touched Wilson yet, he was simply standing directly behind him, about an inch away.

"Oh-ho," Wilson scoffed. "Is that all it is? Well in that case, feel free. My refusal was made under the assumption that you wanted to express feelings of love, not ownership."

"Rookie mistake," House responded, shrugging. He smirked at Wilson in the mirror. His eyes were gleaming.

Wilson groaned. "I'm getting you to pay the water bill next month," he murmured, turning around to face him.

"Yeah, good luck with that," House said, attaching his hand firmly to the back of Wilson's neck.

[]

Someone knocked on Wilson's office door.

"Come in," he said, and then looked up and swallowed. "Sam."

"Hi, James," she said, almost shyly. "Sorry for dropping in like this. I...I tried to call last night, but House answered...and...well, I'm guessing he didn't tell you I called."

"He...didn't," Wilson replied, looking his ex over as she sat down in front of his desk. "What...what are you doing here, Sam?"

She sighed. "Apologizing. Listen, if it's too late, I get that. But I don't want us to leave on hostile terms this time." She caught his eye. "I'd like us at least to be friends, James, if not anything more."

"Uh, listen, Sam, I'm not sure that's the best idea," Wilson said, rubbing the back of his neck. He saw movement out of the corner of his eye and noticed House striding toward the dividing wall of their balconies. "It's nothing personal," Wilson said quickly, rising from his chair. "But I really don't think we should see each other anymore. In any context. You should go." He got up and held his office door open to accentuate his point, but rather than go through it, Sam just stared at him.

At that point House entered the office through the balcony door and, ignoring Sam, greeted Wilson by wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing his mouth deeply.

"House," Wilson interrupted, pushing him away gently. "Please." He gestured at Sam.

"Why, Samantha," House said in tones of mock surprise, looking at her as though he'd only just realized she was there. "I'm sorry, but if you want to watch you'll have to drop by the condo later. Jimmy adamantly refuses to get it on at work." He was looking at her, and smiling at the situation, but she had risen and was staring at Wilson.

"James, what the hell is going on?" She looked from his eyes to his waist, where one of House's hands was still anchored, and had a hand on her hip.

"You mean you didn't tell her about us?" House asked, still cheerful. He started to trace Wilson's jawline with his finger but Wilson smacked his hand away.

"House, cut it out."

He didn't look at Sam, but House did. He grinned at her. "Told you I'd outlast you."

She was still gaping at Wilson. "James, he isn't serious?"

Wilson shrugged and then nodded, and House tightened his grip on Wilson's waist.

Sam made a disgusted face, and stared from one doctor to the other.

Wilson turned to his lover. "House, could you give us a minute?" Wilson asked gently. For a second they looked at each other. Wilson had his serious eyes on. House kissed him again briefly, and for a second Wilson thought he was just asserting his ownership again, just for show. But the kiss was tender for that, and when he pulled back House looked at him for a second, wearing _his _serious eyes, before exiting the way he came.

[]

Wilson didn't usually initiate kissing at work, but when House came to get him for lunch a few hours later, he gave him a quick peck on the lips.

"What was that for?" House asked.

Wilson wondered why House always seemed to think there was an ulterior motive behind his kisses but didn't call attention to it. Maybe because at least this time he was right.

"You trusted me alone with Sam," Wilson explained, smiling.

"You didn't do anything, did you?"

"I apologized," Wilson said.

House scoffed. "Of course you did. It wasn't your fault, but you were involved, so you had to apologize."

"But it was my fault, House," Wilson insisted, looking away from him. "The whole thing was my fault."

"Yeah, you forced her to walk out on you."

Wilson shrugged. "Basically. I pushed her. She wanted us to take it slow this time, so we'd actually make it. Not like last time. But I pressured her into moving in right away."

House backed away a bit, staring at Wilson. "It was your idea?"

Wilson nodded.

"You wanted to get rid of me?"

Wilson smiled. "I needed to get rid of you. We were getting too close, House, and I...I couldn't handle it. It was selfish, I know, I didn't even think about what you wanted when I kicked you out. I just knew it was getting to be too much for me, being around you all the time, and I needed a distraction. Sam friended me, it was perfect timing, I jumped at the opportunity." Wilson had moved close to House again, touching his side. "It was never about her, House. I know it upset you, and I'm sorry I was too selfish to care. But you should know, it was never about her." He took a moment to smile. "It was always you."

House stepped back and rolled his eyes. "Quit being saccharine." He was half-smiling, though, and Wilson chuckled as they headed out to go get lunch.

[]

"Just water, please," Cuddy said to the waiter. She picked up the menu just to have something to do with her hands. Instead of looking at the entrées, she peered over the top of the menu and breathed a sigh of relief when she saw Lucas enter the restaurant. It was an expensive place, but Lucas's shirt was wrinkled and his pants were frayed. He looked almost as scruffy as House usually did, obviously not caring how nice the restaurant was. He sat down across from Cuddy and gave her a look that said he was just here to get this over with.

"So what do you want?" he asked.

Cuddy smoothed her skirt under the table. "I was hoping we could talk," she said.

"I'm listening."

"I wanted to apologize," she explained, looking into his eyes. "I shouldn't have broken up with you like that. I was too hasty–"

"–Right, you should have checked first to make sure House wanted you before dumping me. You're a professional woman, Lisa. You should know you don't quit your job until someone else hires you."

"Lucas, I didn't mean it like that!" Cuddy said, scandalized. "I meant that I should have thought about how much our relationship means to me before I gave it up. I didn't, and that what was wrong, and all I can ask is for you to forgive me. I want you to take me back, Lucas. I...I know I don't deserve it, but I want you to think about what the relationship means to you...whether you're really willing to give it up."

She looked at him, eyes pleading as she waited for a response.

Lucas sighed and leaned back in his chair. "You're right," he said, and Cuddy allowed herself a small smile before his next sentence caught up with her. "You don't deserve it." He got up and she reached for his hand but he moved it away. He stood next to the table and looked down at her. His eyes didn't hold anger, they held pity. "Our relationship did mean something to me, Lisa. But I wanted it to mean something to you, too. Clearly it doesn't. Not enough. I deserve someone who wants me as much as I want them."

Lucas turned around and walked away. Cuddy's eyes filled with tears as she watched him go. She thought about going after him, but didn't think it would do anything.

The waiter came by again. "Your water, ma'am," he said, setting it on the table. She looked at him. "On second thought, I'll take a wine spritzer."

[]

"Did you tell her that?" House asked.

Wilson looked at the man sitting next to him on the couch. When he didn't give an audible response, House returned his gaze.

"Oh, sorry," Wilson said. "I would have answered you, but in order to do that I'd have to have some inkling of what in the world you're talking about."

House rolled his eyes. "When I left you and Sam in your office, did you tell her that you were only doing her to get your mind off me?"

Wilson flinched a bit. "That's kind of harsh, House."

"You told me that was the truth."

"Well...I said it in...nicer words. I was more subtle about it. I tried to phrase it in a way that didn't make her seem worthless."

House snorted. "Of course you did. I forgot, you're the guy who gets thanked when he tells people they're dying."

Wilson grinned. "Well I promise you this, she didn't thank me. She was hoping we could get back together, actually. Even though I rushed her, she said I'm the only guy who really understands her, and she's not willing to give me up. I told her it was too late, she got upset and she said, 'What, as soon as I go out the door, you jump on him?' and then I accidentally smiled because that's exactly what happened, and that pissed her off but I explained that I really loved you all along, even though I don't think that helped." He smirked at House, who smirked back, but then Wilson frowned. "It did get me thinking about that night, though," he said. "I was so freaked out about kissing you that I didn't even think about it, but why did you come over in the first place? We didn't have any plans, I wasn't expecting you, but you were just suddenly there. You don't usually drop by unexpectedly when I'm not single. What made you decide to come over?"

House looked at the floor. Wilson hadn't brought this up yet and he'd hoped he could just forget about it, that he'd never have to tell...

"House?" Wilson prompted, resting a hand on his knee. "Is something wrong?"

He couldn't lie to Wilson. Not about something this big. He sighed. "I was upset," he admitted. "I went back to my apartment and I found an old stash of Vicodin."

Wilson inhaled sharply.

"I didn't take any," House said quickly. "I sat there, I looked at it, I thought about taking it. But I didn't. I put the pills back in the bottle, I put it down, and I came over."

Wilson's arms were around him, his hand against the back of House's neck, pressing his body to his as though afraid something bad would happen if he let go. "House, why didn't you tell me?" he breathed.

Wilson felt him shrug. "You were upset. And then you kissed me. And then you took off. We had other stuff going on."

"I wish you'd told me," Wilson whispered, holding House against him.

"I didn't take it. It's not a big deal."

"It is a big deal. You put it down. That's a huge accomplishment. But you also picked it up." He let go of House for the time being to look at him properly. "Have you talked to Nolan about this?"

House broke eye contact and looked at the floor.

"That's a no. But I assume you've told him about us, right?"

"Actually," House muttered, deciding to come clean. "I haven't spoken to him in awhile."

Wilson furrowed his brow. "How long of a while?"

House shrugged. "Our last session was right after you kicked me out of the condo. I was having a bad week. He came to the conclusion that my less than cheerful mood was due to Cuddy and Lucas moving in together that I'd known about for months rather than the fact that the best friend I happened to be in love with was dating someone else and decided to toss me on my ass. So I fired him."

"All right," Wilson said. "Maybe he was wrong on that one. But to be fair, was he aware that you happened to be in love with your best friend at the time?"

"It's called 'reading between the lines.' He should have figured it out. He should know everybody lies. Including me."

"House, even I had no idea. And I've known you longer and I'd been living with you."

"Yeah, you should have known, too. I've only been flirting with you for what, nine years? Ten?"

Wilson smiled. "You do that with everyone. How was I supposed to know it meant anything with me?"

"You were supposed to know."

"Okay, House."

They sat in a companionable silence for a few minutes.

"Will you do something for me, though?" Wilson asked.

"Do I have to get up?"

"No."

"Shoot."

"Make another appointment with Dr. Nolan," Wilson requested.

House scowled and looked away.

"Please. I'm only asking because I care about your mental health. Yes, he was wrong about what upset you, but there are worse mistakes he could have made, and he is only human and not perfect."

"Fine, fine, I'll make an appointment," House said, partly just to shut Wilson up and partly because he was right. It hadn't been just the one screw up that led him to fire Nolan; it had been the fact that he'd done everything Nolan asked and was still miserable. But he wasn't miserable anymore. He wasn't sure if he was happy, exactly. His leg still hurt badly on occasion and sometimes he got so terrified Wilson would leave him that he'd lie awake at night clutching the oncologist to his body so he couldn't escape. But he was happier than he'd been since the infarction. He didn't know if he'd been happier with Stacy than he was now. Being with Stacy had had the advantage of two working legs, but being with Wilson felt impossibly right in a way that he wasn't sure Stacy could compare. And...it wasn't that he wasn't grateful to have Stacy when she was there, but she'd happened so fast. A mess of a first date and cohabitation a week later. Wilson he'd been waiting for for years.

"Thank you," Wilson said, smiling. "I'm proud of you."

House rolled his eyes and reached for his cane so he could go play his organ. He liked that the instrument faced the wall, away from the rest of the condo. This made it harder for Wilson to see the ridiculous look of pleasure that involuntarily crossed his face whenever he sat down on the bench. He began to play, and Wilson shut the TV off. He leaned against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. House played, and Wilson listened, and the doctors had matching looks of euphoria on their faces as the music penetrated the loft.


	7. In Which We Meet Dr Ramirez

**A/N: **I would like to thank Shadowb3e for suggesting that Cuddy hire a new doctor to follow Wilson around and try to get him to cheat, this story arc really helped push the story as a whole forward.

7.6—"In Which We Meet Dr. Ramirez"

House opened Cuddy's office door and stuck his head in. "You threatened three week's worth of double clinic hours unless I came to see you?"

She looked up and smiled. "Yes, come in, Dr. House."

He didn't want to come in. That was why he'd remained in the little entrance way between the hospital-esque glass clinic doors and the fancy French doors leading to Cuddy's office. And she never called him 'Dr. House.' It meant she was trying to be polite and professional after what happened. She probably meant it respectfully. It was not received that way.

House stepped inside cautiously and suspiciously. He closed the door behind him but didn't go any further into the office. He wanted to leave one of his hands on the door handle to make his getaway that much quicker, but he forced himself to keep his hand at his side.

"What do you want, Cuddy?" He wasn't going to play the addressing by proper titles game.

She stood up and smoothed her skirt, then stepped around her desk to be closer to him. His hand tightened on the handle of his cane.

"What I did was wrong," she explained. "I shouldn't have made the assumption you'd rather have me than Wilson just because that was what I wanted. I shouldn't have kissed you like that. And when you asked me to set Wilson straight about what happened, I should have agreed. Because you were right." She looked down at the ground and sighed, but House didn't move and his suspicious expression didn't change. Cuddy looked up to catch his eye again. "It _was_ my fault. I tried to interfere in your relationship because I wanted you for myself. I'm not proud of it and I'm sorry." She started to approach him and he tensed but didn't break eye contact. "I understand if you don't want to be my friend right now, but you should know, whatever happens..."

She was only wearing two-inch heels today, making the difference between them in height even greater than usual. She wasn't close enough to touch, but if she took another step forward she would be. Her silvery eyes were latched onto his. He wanted to look away but couldn't. His knuckles were white on his cane. He wished he were anywhere else other than here. Even thirty feet over in the clinic would be preferable.

"...whatever happens," she continued, looking up at him, "I care for you. And I'm here for you."

Her hand grazed his arm, and he flinched, glaring at her. She took a step back nervously.

"Is that it?" he asked. "Can I go now?"

She looked at the floor again and nodded. House turned on his heel and left.

[]

When Wilson entered the office, he wasn't nearly as suspicious as House had been, but he still made his way to the chair in front of her desk cautiously. She smiled at him. "Good afternoon, Dr. Wilson."

"Afternoon, Dr. Cuddy." His voice wasn't quite pleasant, but it wasn't icy. Entirely professional. Nothing more, nothing less. Cuddy was determined to keep it that way as well.

"I asked you in because I'd like to speak with you about a new program I'm thinking of implementing. I've discussed it with the board and we've decided to start with a trial before proceeding with the program in its entirety. We've chosen the oncology department for the trial."

_Of course_, Wilson thought. She was trying to win his forgiveness by complimenting his work ethic. We want to try a new program, and who can we trust with a successful trial run? Of course, Doctor James Wilson. Everyone loves him, and he's bound to make the program a success. A favor disguised as a compliment. Cunning.

"All right," Wilson said, not that he had any choice. "What's the program?"

"It's a shadowing program," Cuddy answered, smiling. "A group of highly qualified graduates from the medical school shadow doctors from the departments of the hospital. They learn the ins and outs of how the department works from an administrative point of view as well as a medical point of view. They learn even more about their chosen specialty than they would from an ordinary internship. But since we've never done this program before, we thought we'd start with just one department and just one graduate rather than a whole group."

"So..." Wilson said, eyeing her, "basically I'm going to have a kid who's had an 'M.D.' next to his name all of five minutes follow me around so he can become a head of oncology at thirty instead of forty?"

She smiled. "Basically."

Wilson sighed. It really wasn't a bad idea. The kid would obviously be smart—competition for a space like this would be brutal. He wished he'd gotten into something like that fresh out of medical school. And he supposed he really wouldn't mind mentoring someone. If he weren't still angry with Cuddy he'd probably be reasonably enthusiastic about the idea.

"All right," Wilson said. "Have you chosen the applicant yet?"

"I've narrowed it down to two," Cuddy replied. "They're having their final interviews this afternoon. I'll introduce you to your shadow tomorrow morning."

"All right," Wilson repeated, sighing. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Have a good day, Dr. Wilson," she said politely as he left.

[]

There was a knock on his door, and Wilson stood up to answer it. The door was unlocked—he almost never locked it when he was working, but it seemed more professional for him to escort Cuddy and her newest hire into his office.

"Good morning," Wilson said, smiling cheerfully at both Cuddy and the new young doctor, even though the cheerfulness toward his boss was false.

"Good morning, Dr. Wilson," Cuddy replied, smiling back. "This is Dr. Monica Ramirez. She's going to be your shadow for the two month trial period. Dr. Ramirez, this is Dr. James Wilson."

"Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Wilson," the girl smiled. Logically, the youngest she could be was twenty-six unless she'd been a child prodigy, but she still seemed hardly more than a girl. It struck Wilson just how old he was getting.

"Likewise," Wilson replied, looking her up and down. She wasn't tall, probably five-five or so, and her heels gave her an extra couple of inches, but she was...well...breathtaking. Her long caramel legs were shapely; they disappeared into fitted black skirt several inches above the knee. She wore a thin pink sweater that hugged her body, contrasting her small waist with her curvy hips. The V-neck of her sweater didn't show as much cleavage as Cuddy's did, but Wilson could tell her breasts were bigger than Cuddy's. He automatically judged them at a C, maybe even a D, and almost definitely real. Around her shoulders bounced her jet-black hair, midway between curly and wavy. She had a long, swanlike neck around which she wore a gold cross, and her face...she could have graced the cover of a magazine if she'd wanted to, no photoshopping required. Her brown eyes, darker than Wilson's but not quite black, sparkled. Her dark eyebrows were perfectly manicured but substantial enough to look natural and her nose was petite and straight. Her lips were full and painted a dark shade of red, the gloss gave them a touch of shine but was not overdone. Her bright teeth smiled at Wilson, and so did her eyes. This woman was beautiful.

"Well," Cuddy said, smiling between them, "I'll leave you to show her around, Dr. Wilson. Dr. Ramirez, good luck." She closed the door behind her.

"You can...call me James," Wilson said, deliberately looking away from her and around the office, a bit unsure what should happen next.

"And you can call me Monica," she replied, her eyes still sparkling when Wilson looked at her again.

He gave her his charming smile—it was a habit, he smiled at all women this way—and she returned it. Breathtaking.

"All right," Wilson said. "Well, I don't have any patient meetings until this afternoon, so I guess I've got some time to show you around the hospital."

"Sounds great," Monica replied.

They left his office and went into the hallway. The first thing on Wilson's mind was obviously to introduce this girl to House—the last thing he needed was his lover not knowing he had a beautiful girl following him around all day—but both the conference room and House's office were empty. The team could be anywhere; Wilson wasn't sure if they had a case or not, but he remembered that House had an appointment with Dr. Nolan today.

"This is the diagnostic department," was all he said to Monica as they walked past the glass doors to the rest of the floor.

[]

"Good to see you again, Greg," Nolan greeted when he walked in.

House didn't answer. He sat down in a chair and didn't look at Nolan. When he spoke with his therapist, it wasn't the way he normally spoke to others. He was more open, more honest. The sarcasm was still there, but there was less of it. This way of talking was outside his normal level of comfort, and he needed a few minutes to adjust, remind himself that this worked better when he told Nolan the truth. According to Nolan, anyway. Last time House had left because he'd decided this wasn't working at all. He still wasn't too pleased with the psychologist, but he was willing to give him another chance. Wilson had asked him to.

"I'm still not happy with you," House decided to open with.

"That's understandable," Nolan agreed. "Last time you were here, you were feeling frustration because you'd done everything right but nothing was going right for you. I understand your frustration, Greg. It's normal."

"It got worse," House said, still not looking at him. "The next week I had a patient. A crane had collapsed. I had to amputate her leg on site to get her out. We were on our way to the hospital and she got...a fat embolism. She died in the ambulance." House sighed, rubbing his leg. "Nothing we could do. Nothing we could have done differently. We made the right call. We did everything right, and a woman died."

"That must have also been frustrating for you."

"Isn't there a stronger adjective you can find?" House snapped, looking at him for the first time since he'd entered. "I don't think 'frustrating' quite covers it."

"Exasperating, annoying, irritating, disappointing, discouraging, disheartening, infuriating–"

"–Yeah, that's it," House said, looking away again.

"You were infuriated?" Nolan confirmed.

House nodded.

"Who or what were you infuriated with? Yourself? God? The patient?"

"You know I don't believe in God," House said. "And the patient didn't do anything wrong."

"Neither did you," Nolan reminded, as if House needed reminding.

"I know," House said. "That's why I was feeling that way. I wasn't feeling it...towards anyone. I lashed out at Foreman, but that's just because he happened to be standing there."

"What happened after that?"

Of course it was going to come to this. Once Wilson found out House wasn't seeing Nolan anymore, he'd probably want him to go back regardless, but the Vicodin thing was pretty big. He had to tell him.

"You know that people who keep a plan in the back of their mind to commit suicide are less likely to go through with it than people who don't have an escape route planned?"

"Greg, did you attempt suicide?" Nolan asked, leaning forward and looking worried.

House rolled his eyes. "It's a metaphor."

Nolan leaned back again. "Care to explain it?"

"In my old apartment, there's a hole in the wall of the bathroom. It's behind the mirror. I...keep a couple bottles of Vicodin in there. Never got rid of them. Part of...the reason I never got rid of the apartment. I never planned on taking them...it was just nice to know they were there...if I needed them. I guess you could say it was my escape route. Technically I guess there were enough to kill me if that's what I wanted." House sighed.

Nolan wanted to interrupt, ask if he took any, but he knew that House wasn't done talking and it was wiser to let him continue at his own pace.

"I got home, picked up the mirror, and threw it into the tub where it shattered. I grabbed the bottle and poured out two. Sat down on the floor next to my tub." He looked at Nolan. "I didn't take them. I...I wanted to. But I knew it wouldn't solve anything. I went over to Wilson's instead."

Nolan was smiling. "That's a big deal, Greg. I'm very proud of you. It couldn't have been easy to put the pills down."

"It wasn't." House was staring at the floor. He didn't want anyone to tell him they were proud of him. He'd still picked up the bottle in the first place. He still hadn't got rid of the pills; they were still sitting on the floor of his bathroom. He hadn't been back there since that night. After Wilson kissed him and took off, he'd slept in his old bedroom, half not trusting himself to go back and half hoping he could force things back to the way they were before Sam by acting like they were.

But the point of the pills wasn't for him to actually take them. It was for them to be there in case he'd needed to take them. They were supposed to remain in that hole in the wall forevermore, serving their purpose without ever being touched. In House's mind, he had failed. He told this to Nolan, who smiled and shook his head.

"You failed because you _didn't_ go back to drugs after being off them for a year?"

"I failed because I thought I needed them."

"No," Nolan contradicted. "No, it wasn't the drugs you needed. It was the control."

House looked at him. "This isn't an eating disorder."

"Doesn't matter," Nolan said, shaking his head. "Some of the things you said to me, you were right about. Not all of them, but some. You did do everything you were supposed to do and it still wasn't helping you. Then you go to your job and do everything you're supposed to do and a woman still died. Nothing you did had any affect on the world around you and that was, to use your word, infuriating. You couldn't control Wilson's feelings for Sam or Cuddy's feelings for Lucas, and you couldn't control what went on inside that woman's body that caused her to die. But you could control what you put inside your body. Or what you didn't." Nolan smiled at House. "That's why you didn't take it. For once, you had a choice to make and you could control the outcome. You could take the drugs and end up back in here or dead. Or you could put them down and decide that this last year wasn't a waste after all. It wasn't the drugs you wanted, House. It was the control they gave you over your life."

House sat in his chair for a minute, rubbing his leg and thinking that over. Eventually he shrugged. "I guess."

"There is one other thing, though," Nolan said, leaning forward in his chair again. House looked at him. "When you were telling me this, you said, 'my old apartment.' Did you get a new place?"

He really didn't mean to smile, and he reverted his expression back to usual quickly, but Nolan still caught it.

"Greg," Nolan prompted. "You smiled. You don't usually smile in here. Something about my question must have prompted a positive thought. I'd like you to share it."

"I'm living with Wilson again," House said, his mouth twitching from trying not to smile at the idea.

"Really?" Nolan asked, relaxing in his chair. "How does Sam feel about this?"

At this House did smirk. "She wasn't too thrilled. But she didn't find out until a week ago. She and Wilson broke up the same night that I...you know...almost slipped."

"Did they get into a fight when you came over?"

"No," House said, indignant that Nolan automatically assumed he'd been the one to cause the breakup. "She'd left right before I got there. It actually wasn't my fault." His mouth twitched. "Well, not directly."

Nolan could tell there was something House wasn't telling him. It didn't seem to be causing House any distress, but he still wanted to know.

"Greg, what do you mean, 'not directly'?"

"It was Wilson's fault, not mine," House explained. "He was rushing Sam into a relationship...because of me. He was using her as a distraction...from me. They broke up because it wasn't a real relationship to begin with. I didn't do anything."

"I see," Nolan said, though he still felt he was missing something. "So Sam moved out and Wilson asked you to move back in?"

House thought back. "Technically, I don't think he ever asked. I moved myself back in."

"The two of you never discussed it?"

"It was kind of an unspoken agreement." House was enjoying himself. Nolan still had no idea they were romantically involved, and as proud as he was of this information, he wasn't going to volunteer it until one of Nolan's questions required it.

Nolan was studying him. House was acting superior. He knew something Nolan didn't, something relevant, and he was having fun not letting Nolan in on the secret.

"House, what aren't you telling me?" Nolan asked.

"There's a lot I'm not telling you," House shrugged. "Two plus two equals four, don't think we've had a conversation about that yet, Chase and Thirteen are dating, we've got a pool going on how long that will last–"

"–House," Nolan interrupted, looking at him.

House shrugged. "You're going to have to be more specific."

"How's Cuddy?" Nolan asked, suspecting she might have something to do with House's slight air of cheerfulness. He didn't expect the man's expression to turn sour.

"Kind of a mess, I think. I don't care, really. She and Lucas broke up. That's probably why."

Cuddy and Lucas breaking up was a good thing for House, it would explain his good mood, but why did he seem less than pleased by the whole thing?

"Do you know why they broke up?" Nolan asked.

"So that when she threw herself at me, she wouldn't be cheating on him."

"She...threw herself at you?"

"Yeah. She saw one of the other kids pick up the toy from the sandbox and suddenly she wanted it."

Nolan smiled. "Of course. No wonder. But you don't seem too thrilled by it. You love Cuddy. You're not a toy, if one kid grabs you, you can still decide to play with the other one."

"I don't want to play with her. She only wants me because someone else has me. Do you have any idea how degrading that is? Besides, maybe I'd rather have the other kid play with me."

"Someone you like more than Cuddy?" Nolan seemed surprised. "She must be pretty special. Why don't you tell me about her?"

House smirked. "Well, she's about six two, brunet with brown eyes, an excellent cook. She's a doctor but she refuses to have sex at the hospital. She makes it up to me when we get home, though," House added, smirking.

"I see," Nolan said, not amused. "What's her name?"

Yeah, all right, there wasn't a way out of this without outright lying. House smirked at his therapist. "James. James Evan Wilson."

[]

House burst into Wilson's office. Wilson was too used to it by now to even look up, let alone flinch.

"I'm all better now," he announced. "Nolan fixed me. I don't need to go back there."

"He didn't say that," Wilson said, not looking up.

House wasn't listening; he'd noticed Monica sitting on Wilson's couch. She was wearing a lab coat now. Her legs were crossed and she was writing something on a legal pad. She'd looked up when House walked in but when he'd ignored her she'd turned back to her notes.

"New squeeze?" he asked, nodding at her.

"House!"

She was unfazed, though. She smiled and stood up, extending a hand. "You must be Dr. House. I'm Dr. Monica Ramirez. Dr. Cuddy hired me to shadow Dr. Wilson as a trial for the hospital's new shadowing program."

He took her hand and looked her body over without bothering to hide what he was doing. Then he glanced at Wilson. "How come I don't get one?" he asked indignantly.

Wilson chuckled. "You have three. And Foreman." He put some papers down neatly and stood up. "Are you ready for lunch?"

"If you're ready to pay for it."

"It's a date," Wilson said, smiling, causing House to groan and roll his eyes.

"Wilson, you're embarrassing me in front of the pretty girl."

Wilson laughed. "House, you don't have the capacity to be embarrassed." He turned to Monica. "Excuse us, Monica. We should be back in about a half-hour, and then you can take your lunch break."

"Have a good lunch, James," she said, smiling and putting her hand on his arm for a moment while House watched. Then she looked at him. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Dr. House."

Wilson smiled sheepishly and House gave an amused smirk as they exited the office.

"_Please_ tell me she does threesomes," House implored once the door was closed.

"House, come on. She's like...a fetus. She's barely out of med school."

"And she wants you."

"You have something in common," Wilson smirked.

"She really calls you James?"

"Most people I work with call me James. That option is available to you too, _Greg_."

"So hiring Miss October to follow you around all day was Cuddy's idea?"

"I highly doubt Cuddy hired her because of the way she looks," Wilson said. "She did my rounds with me this morning; she's very sharp. She knows more about cancer then I did when I was her age. And she's very friendly."

"I could tell."

Wilson gave House a suspicious smile as the elevator doors opened.

"What?"

"You're not upset. You're not suspicious. You didn't interrogate her. You have't interrogated me about her. Either your session with Nolan went well enough to put you in an especially good mood...or you're actually starting to trust me."

House looked around. The elevator was empty. Then he shrugged. "You introduced me to her. When you're sleeping with someone, or trying to...you hide it. You get rid of her when you see me coming. You keep it from me. There was never any reason to, we weren't dating, but you always hid it. Now that we are dating, you'd hide it even more cause the consequences are worse for me finding out. You didn't. You let me meet her. Oh, wipe that smug smile off your face. What, you're not sleeping with her, are you?"

"Oh, of course not," Wilson said, rolling his eyes. "I've known her all of six hours."

"And you're not engaged yet?" House asked incredulously. Wilson smacked the back of his neck.

The elevator doors opened and House and Wilson pulled apart. House looked self-satisfied. Wilson looked guilty.

[]

Monica followed Wilson into the diagnostic room. The skirt she wore today was also black, but shorter and more flowing than the one from yesterday. She still wore a sweater, a similar style to the day before, but a teal color instead of pink.

"You needed a consult?" Wilson asked, but none of the fellows were looking at him.

"Hi," Monica said, smiling at them. "I'm Dr. Ramirez. You can call me Monica. I'm shadowing Dr. Wilson as part of a new hospital program. He said the diagnostic department wanted a consult?"

Four open mouths closed. Foreman put some scans up on the wall for the oncologist and the oncologist-in-training to look at, but no one else was looking at the scans. Wilson, seemingly oblivious to the attention his shadow was receiving, looked closely before determining it wasn't cancer, and the two of them left the room.

Chase, Taub, Thirteen, and Foreman stared at each other.

"All right," Thirteen said. "I'm gonna be the one to say it. She is _hot_."

The men nodded in agreement.

"Right," Taub said. "Well, I should go tell the patient it's not cancer."

"It means we're gonna have to do another differential," Foreman sighed. "I'll go get House."

Thirteen watched the two older men leave, and then leaned over and kissed Chase on the mouth. For a moment he looked surprised, but then he closed his eyes and kissed back.

"Wait," Chase said, pulling away for a second. He looked at Thirteen. "You're thinking of me, right?"

"What? Oh, yeah, of course." She smiled at him.

"Right. Just...making sure."

Thirteen leaned forward to kiss him again and then stopped. "You were thinking of me, weren't you?"

"Uh, yeah," Chase grinned. "Definitely."

"Cool." She scooted her chair closer to Chase's and resumed making out with him.

[]

House didn't consider pretending to care that Cuddy was on the phone when he barged into her office.

"Excuse me, could you please hold for one second?" she said quickly before pressing a button and putting down the receiver. "What's up?" she asked House, leaning back comfortably in her chair.

"It's not gonna work," he said, glaring at her.

She shook her head and shrugged. "What's not gonna work?"

"He's not gonna cheat on me. And definitely not with the piece of ass you hired to follow him around and tempt him."

"House," Cuddy said in a warning voice.

He stopped, and they had a staring contest for a moment before Cuddy looked away.

"You're being paranoid," she said. "If you're feeling insecure about your relationship, I'm here if you'd like to discuss it with me, but I'm going to ask that you not blame me for it. I hired Dr. Ramirez as part of a shadowing program, not a let's-find-more-panties-for-Wilson-to-peel program. She was the most qualified applicant, as I'm sure you've ascertained from the files you spent yesterday going through instead of diagnosing your patient." She looked up at him. "What, did you think I didn't know about that? You underestimate me, House. Now if you've got nothing else to say, I've got a phone call to continue."

House glared at her for another moment. "Wilson's not gonna fall for your tricks," he said finally.

[]

House made his way slowly from his office down the hall towards the elevators, backpack slung over his shoulder. Wilson was waiting for him, and Monica waited with him. Both doctors smiled at House, and Monica nodded and said, "Dr. House," in acknowledgement. House ignored her except to put his arm around Wilson's shoulders possessively. Wilson gave his shadow a "Don't ask" smile and snaked his arm around House's waist in return.


	8. Happy Birthday

**A/N: **Slashfan54 asked that I bring up House's leg getting worse. I think for the most part he's down to his baseline pain because being with Wilson is the closest he's been to happy since the infarction, but I will bring up his leg issues. Thanks for the suggestion.

7.7—"Happy Birthday"

House was sitting at his desk, playing with his big red ball and sending inappropriate text messages to Wilson.

He sensed a disturbance in the office and looked up to see Thirteen standing there. Her hands were in the pockets of her lab coat, which was good because it meant she didn't have a file for him. After he was done harassing Wilson his plan was to play his PSP for an hour before another round of Wilson-harassing. Having to do a differential would throw off his schedule for the entire afternoon.

Silently he assessed her. They didn't have a patient, so it had to be something personal. She was smiling, which meant she wasn't here to resign or complain about Chase. Her smile was slightly smug, so she knew something he didn't, or she knew something he didn't think she knew. Which meant she'd been talking to Wilson. This was going to be about Wilson.

"What?" he decided was the quickest and easiest path to her knowledge.

"Your birthday is on Thursday," she stated, giving him a superior look.

Great. She'd been working for him for two years and had never acknowledged his birthday before, so she only knew now because Wilson had told her, and the only reason for that would be...

"Wilson sent you to find out what I want."

For about a second she looked surprised and impressed at his powers of deduction, but she recovered quickly.

"All right," she agreed. "So what do you want?"

"Morning sex and macadamia nut pancakes," House replied without missing a beat. "And for him not to mention the fact that it's my birthday."

Thirteen rolled her eyes and sat down in the chair in front of his desk. "Come on, you must want something."

"Yeah," House said, looking at her. "Sex and pancakes."

"He knows you usually prefer that everyone ignore your birthday, but he doesn't want to do that now that you're...together," she explained. "And he doesn't want to just ask you himself because it makes him feel cheap, but he wants to get you something you'll actually enjoy and appreciate, and face it, House, you're not an easy person to shop for."

"No one needs to shop for anything," House insisted, getting up and grabbing his cane to show he was bored with the conversation. "Now that he's my boy toy, the sex is free, and I know for a fact we have all the ingredients for pancakes stocked. Now go away. Do my clinic hours or something."

She rolled her eyes and left the room.

[]

Wilson approached Thirteen as soon as he saw her in the hallway. "What did he say?" he asked anxiously.

Thirteen sighed. "Morning sex, macadamia pancakes, and to act like it's not his birthday. I tried, Wilson, but that's all he'd give me."

Wilson sighed, too.

"Come on, you've known him longer than anyone," Thirteen encouraged. "You've got to know what he likes."

Wilson chuckled. "He likes sex and pancakes. And he hates his birthday."

"So don't get him anything special," she suggested. "Just...give him what he wants."

"I can't do that!" Wilson answered, mortified. "He'd hate me. It's his birthday, I can't just ignore it. Sure, he may act like he doesn't actually care, but inside he'd be secretly hurt and disappointed if I don't acknowledge it."

"You sure about that?" Thirteen asked, crossing her arms and examining him.

"Well..." Wilson shrugged. "Better safe than sorry."

Thirteen smirked. "I'll tell you what. Chase is having a guys' night with some of his friends. If House won't be totally suspicious of you going out for a couple hours after work, I'll go to the mall with you and we'll find something for him."

"I shouldn't have bought that organ just because," Wilson murmured to himself. "I knew he'd love that. I felt so proud of myself for thinking of it. I should have saved it for a special occasion."

"No, you shouldn't have," Thirteen contradicted. "It wouldn't have meant as much to him. This way you did it because you wanted to, because you loved him. You didn't need his birthday as an excuse."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "You really don't think I should get him anything?"

"It's up to you, Wilson," she sighed.

"I mean, it's the first birthday he's had since we've been together, and I want to show him that that means something to me."

"So we'll pick out something nice," Thirteen said, smiling encouragingly. "I'm sure he'll love whatever you get him simply because it comes from you."

Wilson groaned into his hands. "I'm doomed."

[]

House woke up to the sound of the hair dryer going in the next room. So unless Wilson was tricking House or something, he had already bathed and was getting ready for the day. No chance of ambushing him in the shower.

The sound of the hair dryer ceased as House rolled out of bed, reaching for his cane. Wilson greeted him with a "Hey," as they passed each other, him on his way out of the bathroom, House on his way in.

Definitely no chance of morning sex. He was already clean and fresh and ready for the day. His hair was styled to perfection, his shirt was pressed, all that was missing was the tie, which he was on his way to the closet for right now.

House grumpily went through his own morning routine, splashing water on his face, taking his medications, running a wet hand through his hair to get it just right in a way that was completely different from Wilson.

Once dressed, he thumped moodily down the hall. He already knew he wasn't getting his second birthday wish either. He'd have been able to smell Wilson's pancakes from a mile away. Not in the mood for eggs, House grabbed a box of sugared cereal from the top of the fridge and wondered for a second if he had the date wrong. But no, of course he didn't. It was the eleventh, it was definitely his birthday. Every year he wanted it to go by without acknowledging it. He wished he could pretend it was just another day. But around the time of the ninth or the tenth, it always occurred to him, and when the day came he couldn't look at the date written on a piece of paper without thinking, _Today's my birthday._

Well at least he was getting one thing he wanted. Wilson hadn't said a word to him about it. _Congratulations, Greg_, House thought to himself. _Just like any other day. Just like you always want._

Wilson had ignored his birthdays before, and he'd never cared. Genuinely hadn't cared. It wasn't like House acknowledged Wilson's birthday. He frowned to himself. Did he even know when Wilson's birthday was? Something was telling him November. He should probably ask sometime. Well, not ask. Snoop through his stuff for a birth certificate. He knew the man's blood type, for god's sakes. They'd known each other for twenty years, they'd been dating for two months. How could he not know Wilson's birthday?

"You riding to work with me?" Wilson asked, grabbing his jacket and briefcase.

House shook his head. "Taking the bike. I'll see you there."

Wilson shrugged. "Suit yourself." He hesitated for a moment, leaning forward as though considering walking up to House from the doorway instead of turning around and going out, but the moment passed and he gave House a quick smile before leaving.

They sometimes rode together, but not always. It wasn't convenient if they needed to leave at different times. House knew Wilson had been debating whether to kiss him goodbye. House never minded as long as he could sneak some tongue in, but that didn't stop him from mocking him about his domesticity later. Eventually Wilson learned to refrain such gestures when that's all they were—gestures. They kissed all the time. It was their new foosball. But they didn't kiss as a way of saying hello or goodbye. They kissed to, well, kiss.

[]

An exception came later that day. House decided to forgive the transgression because for the most part Wilson had been good lately, and within minutes a much larger transgression occurred, driving any kissing completely from House's mind.

It was late morning. House had just dismissed his team from a differential and was making his way from the conference room to his office when Wilson sidled through the door.

Before House could say anything, Wilson had pecked him quickly on the cheek and whispered, "Happy birthday, House," before slipping him a small package and then leaving the room. House watched him hurry down the hallway, his shadow Monica at his heels, and then limped over to his chair. Wilson was now oh-for-three in the presents-House-had-asked-for category, but he had gotten him something. And for some reason he didn't want to be present when this something was unwrapped. It couldn't just be that he was too busy or he would have given it to him at home. Which meant he was ashamed of it. Which meant he either didn't think House would like it or it was something entirely inappropriate. House wanted to believe the latter but the former was more likely. It wasn't that Wilson was incapable of inappropriate, he just probably wouldn't want the first-birthday-as-a-couple present to be inappropriate and even if he did, he'd probably be curious enough to watch his reaction.

Well, with the team off running tests, if House wanted to open his present without being interrupted, it was now or never. He sat down in his chair and inspected the box. It was about six inches by three inches, wrapped expertly in white and gold wrapping paper and tied with a translucent gold ribbon. It might have been gift-wrapped at the store, but House wouldn't put it past Wilson to possess perfect wrapping skills all on his own. He untied the ribbon and placed it gently on the desk. The lid was wrapped separately from the box, allowing House to open it without tearing the wrapping paper. It crossed his mind for a moment that Wilson took all the fun parts out of opening presents.

In the box, on a bed of padded silk, lay a watch. House inhaled sharply when he saw it. He picked up out of the box gently, tenderly, inspecting. It was made of steel and white gold, varying shades of silver in color except for the numbers, which were a complementary blue. House immediately thought of his eyes. The second hand moved elegantly around the clock's face as he stared at it. There was a little crown where the number twelve should have been. A Rolex. The man had bought him a Rolex.

A sudden throb in House's leg caused him to gasp out in surprise and pain and grab his thigh. Hand shaking, House dropped the watch quickly into a drawer before grimacing and using both hands to massage the muscles and lack thereof in his leg.

He looked up at the sound of the door opening to see Thirteen standing there.

"What?" he snapped, squeezing his leg.

Thirteen's eyes got wide. "I just wanted to tell you she has a fever. It's not autoimmune." Then she stepped forward cautiously. "Are...are you all right?"

"Do I look all right?" He griped, glaring at her.

"Do you want me to get someone? Do you want me to get Wilson?"

"No." His glare was so severe Thirteen decided to let him be. She turned around and left the way she came.

House got up and, grabbing his thigh, began pacing around his office. He looked down at his desk, saw the two pieces of the box, and pushed them over so they fell off the desk into the garbage. A flutter of paper caught House's eye as the lid fell, and he picked it up.

Taped to the wrapping paper and matching it so perfectly House hadn't noticed it before was a two inch square "card" with gold embellishments. He ripped it off the box lid, tearing the wrapping paper, and opened it. On the left side of the card was a printed 'To' and 'From' that Wilson had left blank. The right side of the card read simply, 'I love you. –J.W.'

House felt something warm in his abdomen. He squeezed the paper in his hand and then shoved it into his jeans pocket.

[]

Wilson pushed the door open and walked into the office, but its occupant didn't look up from his computer. He was wearing his reading glasses—it crossed Wilson's mind that House always looked cute with his glasses on; maybe that was why he only wore them when strictly necessary.

"Hey," Wilson announced his presence, not bothering to sit down in front of the desk because he'd just have to get up again. "Ready to go to lunch?"

House shrugged without looking at him.

Wilson was immediately on his guard. Something was wrong. No smartass comment, no sarcasm, no sex talk meant something was wrong.

_Not necessarily_, Wilson told himself. _Maybe he's just busy. He's got a case he hasn't solved yet._

"What are you working on?" Wilson asked, hoping to get a sense of what made House so indifferent to him all of a sudden.

House shut his computer with a snap and removed his glasses. "Nothing. All right, we can go."

Yes. Something was wrong. There were a million different ways he could have answered that question. Most of them would have made Wilson smile, some might have even earned a chuckle. House wasn't even bothering to deflect. He was upset. Wilson snuck a surreptitious glance at his wrists. No watch. Oh. That's what this was about?

Wilson looked at House. "You hate it," he deduced.

House leaned his head back and sighed. "It's not the damn watch, Wilson."

"Why aren't you wearing it, then?" Wilson asked, not demandingly, but curiously. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Nothing. It's just my leg. It's fine. It'll go away."

Wilson shook his head. "No, there's something else bothering you. I can tell there's something bothering you. Did I do something wrong? I need you to tell me, House, because that's the only way I can make it better."

"You didn't do anything wrong," House insisted, rubbing his leg and not looking at him. "I'm fine. Are you gonna buy me lunch or not? It is m–" he cut himself off and fell silent.

Wilson frowned at him. "No."

House looked up at Wilson. "You always buy me lunch."

"I'm not buying you anything unless you tell me why you're upset."

"I'm upset because my supposed boyfriend won't even buy me lunch on my birthday."

"A deflection. What a surprise," Wilson said sarcastically. "Fine. I'll be in my office if you change your mind." He turned around and left.

House watched him leave the room. He massaged his thigh with one hand and then reopened his laptop and replaced his glasses with the other.

[]

The team left the diagnostic room in different directions, Taub and Foreman to check the patient's home and Thirteen and Chase to do a lung biopsy. Thirteen pulled Chase aside down the hallway and whispered something in his ear.

He stared at her for a second. "Do I have to?"

"Please?" she asked, looking up at him.

Chase nodded and she smiled. He leaned forward to give her a quick peck on the lips before turning back to the conference room.

House was still there, staring at the messy list of symptoms on the white board. He looked up when Chase entered.

"Thought I sent you to remove a piece of lung from a dying woman."

"Remy said she could handle it."

House groaned. "You call her by her first name now? Pathetic. You disgust me."

Ignoring that, Chase sat down in a chair next to House. "She said your leg's been getting worse. We're concerned."

"It's nothing," House said, eyes still on the white board.

"Or it's something," Chase contradicted. "We should run some tests. I could do it under a false name if you don't want Wilson or Cuddy to know. You've had problems before, you don't want to risk it being something serious that ends up undetected. Maybe it's even something treatable. We won't know without tests. And you're the one who always says it's better to know than not know."

"I already know," House pointed out, still rubbing his leg, seemingly unconsciously. "It's nothing. Go...make sure Thirteen doesn't kill our patient."

Chase furrowed his brow. "You've had the test already? When?"

"I don't need the test," House insisted. "It's just a damn...conversion disorder. It's been fine...for weeks."

"That's not completely true," Chase said, "It got bad again a few weeks ago–"

"–Yeah, when Wilson and I were fighting, it got bad again. You think he's got a secret opiate addiction and the drugs get transferred to me through exchange of bodily fluids, giving me worse pain and withdrawal symptoms whenever we stop?"

Chase made a face at the mental image of House and Wilson exchanging bodily fluids.

House had finally looked at him with the last thing he said, but now he turned away again. "Just go. I'll forgive him and my leg will heal itself." He snapped his fingers. "Like magic."

Chase was watching him. "You know it doesn't actually work that way."

"Close enough."

"House, you don't do 'close enough.'"

"You are aware that I've fired you once and I'm not afraid to do it again. Leave. It's not a request."

Chase sighed heavily, but obeyed. House continued to stare at the white board. He stuck his left hand, the one that wasn't rubbing the thigh, into his pocket.

[]

House let the door slam behind him as he entered the condo.

"Good, you're home," Wilson said, smiling. "I made a reservation at Lahiere's."

"Great," House said sarcastically, letting his backpack fall the floor and easing himself onto the couch so he wouldn't hurt his leg. He dug his heel into the skin and rubbed.

Wilson frowned at him. "How bad is it?"

"I don't know. A seven?"

"Do you want me to cancel the reservation?"

"I don't care, Wilson. Whatever you want."

Wilson's look of concern was painful. House looked away. Wilson went back to the kitchen and found a phone. House massaged his thigh as he heard Wilson dialing.

"Yes, I'd like to order a pizza. Large, with mushrooms, steak, and bacon. For delivery, please."

House actually did smile as Wilson gave them the address. Then he joined House on the couch.

"Thanks," House said, and Wilson could tell he sincerely meant it.

"Listen," Wilson said, scooting closer on the couch. "I'm sorry I didn't know what to get you for your birthday. We can take the watch back if you want."

"It's not the watch, Wilson," House said, sighing.

"What is it, then?" Wilson pressed.

"Nothing," House answered, looking at the floors. "You didn't do anything. It's just me being pathetic and stupid."

"House–"

"–Don't."

Wilson sighed, frustrated. "House, you've got to listen to me. This...you, me. This is not going to work unless we tell each other things. I understand that there are some things you want to keep to yourself, but when something really upsets you, you have to tell me. This can't work if you don't."

"Oh, so either I tell you or you dump me?"

"No!" Wilson said, massaging his temple. "No, either you tell me and we fix the problem, or you silently resent me until things build up and explode and we're both miserable. This might be hard for you to believe, but I actually do want this to work, House. I'll do whatever I can to make this last, but you need to help me. Please, House, just tell me."

House stared at him for a moment before looking down toward the ground. "I hate the watch," House admitted.

Wilson's shoulders sagged but he didn't say anything.

"It's the male version of something you'd give to a wife. You'd buy fine jewelry for Bonnie and Julie, you would have for Sam if you'd been able to afford it back then. Every birthday, every Christmas, something pretty and shiny. Something they can squeal to their girlfriends about. Oh, he loves me so much, look how much he spent on me. It's a pattern, Wilson. Something I thought you were trying to break."

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck. "Because I bought you a nice watch, you put yourself into a category with my ex wives, a category which includes a cheating-and-ending-in-disaster clause."

"It's paranoid, I know. It's...ridiculous."

"It's not ridiculous," Wilson contradicted. "That certainly wasn't my intention, House, but I see where you're coming from. I'm sorry that I hurt you, House. I didn't think of it that way."

"I know," House admitted, looking at the floor. They sat in silence for a minute before House spoke up again. "I wasn't lying to Thirteen. I wasn't evading the question. Seriously, Wilson. The only things I really wanted were macadamia nut pancakes and morning sex."

Wilson smiled at House, who looked up toward him cautiously. "I can make it up to you tomorrow," Wilson suggested.

House leaned toward him and Wilson kissed his lips.

"You know," Wilson said, pulling back. "I never gave any of my wives morning sex or macadamia pancakes for their birthdays." He let House kiss him again. "So I can return the watch if you really hate it, but since you're getting these extra gifts, you'll really be in your own category..."

They looked at each other for a moment.

"It wasn't the watch I hated," House clarified. "I'll keep the watch, Wilson."

Wilson smiled.

"It'll make me look sexy," House explained. "The blue numbers complement my eyes."

**A/N:** I know the ending seems kind of abrupt, so if you prefer you can imagine the camera panning out so you see them on the couch in the condo, then it goes out and you see them through the window of the building, and then it goes farther away from the building and they get smaller until you can't see them anymore, and at the same time there's some calm pretty music playing. Let's say Pink's "Glitter in the Air" just because it's stuck in my head.


	9. Wilson's Secret

**A/N: **Hikari of the Moon has been asking me to have House tell Wilson he loves him. The three words, not just allusions and such.

7.8—"Wilson's Secret"

"Monica, it's getting late," Wilson sighed, rubbing his temples. "You should go. You don't need to sit here and watch me do my paperwork."

"James, let me help you with some of that," the pretty young doctor insisted, smiling. "That's why I'm here."

"You don't have to," Wilson said. "I've only got an hour or so more. It's nearly ten. There's no reason for you to stay."

"There's no reason for you to stay, either," Monica pointed out. "We both know this can wait until tomorrow."

Wilson looked longingly at his pile of paperwork as he contemplated. Then he sighed. "No. I can't."

"Then at least take a break for a minute," she suggested. She took his hand and helped him up from his chair. "Come on," she said, leading him to his couch. "Relax."

He sat down on his couch and sighed, putting his head in his hands. "Just five minutes. Then I'm finishing my paperwork."

Monica sat down beside him and shook her head. "You're working too hard, James." She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed.

"Hmm," he murmured.

"You need to relax," Monica smiled, proceeding to massage his shoulders and neck.

"This is a bad idea," Wilson whispered, but he offered no other complaint.

"Shh," Monica breathed into his ear. "Relax."

Wilson rolled his shoulders into her massage. "Hmm, I should get back to work..."

"Is that really what you want?" Monica whispered against his neck. Then she pressed her lips to his skin.

"Mmm...no," Wilson admitted.

She pulled back a little bit and he turned to look at her. She was so beautiful. A long strand of soft black hair fell across her face. Wilson brushed it behind her ear, and she leaned into his touch. She turned her head and kissed the palm of his hand.

His other hand was on her bare knee—he wasn't entirely sure how it got there. He squeezed gently and used his other hand to stroke her hair. She leaned toward him and he kissed her gently. Monica tangled one of her hands in Wilson's hair and her other hand snaked itself around his waist. Their kisses became deeper and she pushed herself closer to him on the couch.

Shirts were unbuttoned, Wilson ghosted a hand over the smooth curves filling her lacy red bra. She leaned herself back on Wilson's couch, he unbuckled his belt. He was over her, and his open shirt hid their bodies from view, but she was moaning and he was grunting and thrusting into her. The both of them gasped, and he moved to collapse on top of her...

Wilson opened his eyes and sat up, breathing heavily. He was in his bed, and he was sweating. He looked to his left. House was asleep on his stomach, not touching Wilson but only inches from him. His head rested on the bed in between their two pillows, and his breathing was even.

Wilson scrambled to get the confining covers off of him and tried to get out of bed without waking House. He stumbled into the bathroom, sank to his knees, and coughed into the toilet. He flushed, cursing the sound, and splashed some water onto his face. "Just a dream," he whispered to the mirror.

"Wilson?"

How had House made it to the bathroom so fast, and why hadn't Wilson heard him?

"Are you okay?"

He was standing in the doorway in a white undershirt and light blue boxers that didn't cover his scar. His face was scruffy and he was squinting into the bright light of the bathroom.

Wilson felt the guilt flooding through his bloodstream. "I'm fine. Just a little stomach bug. Go back to bed."

House slunk away, obeying.

Wilson rubbed more cold water onto his face and rinsed out his mouth. He found some scope in the cabinet and rinsed with that too, getting the taste of dream-Monica and shame out of his mouth. He shut off the bathroom light, slipped silently into the bedroom, and climbed back in beside House.

He was lying on his back now, maybe already asleep again, maybe not yet. Wilson's first instinct was to snuggle against him, rest his head on his chest to prove to him and the rest of the world that they were completely in love and happy. But that was what he'd done with his wives when he'd felt guilty for cheating on them. Wilson reminded himself that he hadn't _actually_ done anything. There wasn't any need for false reassurance—they were fine. He lay on his side, his back close to House. Instead of cuddling, Wilson reached back for House's arm and pulled it across his waist, making _House_ cuddle _him._ House turned on his side to cooperate and smiled sleepily. He moved his head to Wilson's pillow.

"I love you," he murmured to the back of Wilson's neck.

[]

House saw Cuddy's reflection in one of the hospital's glass walls and tried to speed up his walking. However, not having a gimp leg, she inevitably caught up anyway. Her mouth was about to form the age, gender, and symptoms of a patient while she handed him a file, but she stopped when her eyes reached his wrist and looked at him.

"That's a nice watch," she said.

"Birthday present," House responded shortly, trying to walk away from her.

"Wilson got that for you?" she asked, her voice full of doubt for some reason.

"No, it was one of my other male lovers," he answered. "But shh, don't tell Wilson. If he finds out I'm screwed. Or rather...not screwed, which is worse."

"Wow," Cuddy said, seemingly impressed. "Well...that's great, House. Learning to trust is a big step, and very important for a serious relationship."

House stopped trying in vain to escape and stared at her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Cuddy said innocently, shrugging. "Just...there was a time when you thought the only motivation for expensive gifts was guilt. No way people buy things that nice out of love. Like I said, it's great that you've changed your mind about that, that you've learned to trust."

House looked at her suspiciously, but apparently she was done talking. She handed him a blue file, or, on closer inspection, two blue files.

"Six year old conjoined twins. Fever of 102, rashes all over her body, and sweating."

"Not interested," House said, starting to walk away again.

"That's only one of the twins," Cuddy called after him.

He looked back at her for a second.

"The other one is completely fine," she continued.

House grudgingly walked back to her and took the file.

"Oh, and tell Wilson he has great taste," she added, smiling and heading back to her office.

[]

House leaned back in his chair and tried to look into Wilson's office through their balconies. It was challenging. The blinds weren't completely closed, they were angled to let the sun in, but House could only see glimpses. Apparently someone had brought in an extra desk chair for Monica so that she could sit next to Wilson at his desk. They were sitting close together. House squinted. Not touching, but one of them said something and they both started laughing. Then she did touch his arm. She was getting up. The touch was brief, but there. She walked toward the balcony and for a second House thought she was going to close the blinds, but she was just going around Wilson's desk to exit his office. House couldn't tell if Wilson was checking her out as she walked or keeping his eyes on his work.

"House," Taub's voice made him jump.

All four of them were standing there.

"What's going on?" House said, quickly regaining his composure. "Has Thing Two gotten sick yet?"

[]

This time House actually stood out on his balcony to watch them. Subtle? No. Effective? Yes.

At least now she was sitting in front of his desk, like patients do, rather than next to it. Wilson was looking at either his paperwork or her cleavage. House decided he'd order a pair of binoculars when he got back to his office.

She was getting up. Yes, towards Wilson. She walked around the desk and stood behind him. He was pointing to something on his computer monitor. She leaned over the back of his chair to see better, and her hand found his shoulder. House's fingers tensed around his cane and his other hand went into his jeans pocket and made a fist. Monica nodded at something and then went to sit back down. Her hand left Wilson's shoulder, but her fingers lingered on his upper arm a second longer than necessary.

House decided enough was enough. He swung his legs carefully over the dividing wall of the balcony and headed over to Wilson's office. Both doctors looked up at him as he burst through the door, but he ignored the younger one. He marched around Wilson's desk, leaned his cane against the bookcase, and kissed Wilson on the mouth.

"I'll just give you a minute," he heard Monica say politely, and a moment later came the sound of the balcony door opening and closing. House wasn't really paying attention because he was too focused on Wilson's lips. He'd seated himself gingerly on Wilson's lap and was working a hand through his brown hair.

Wilson was participating equally. His arms were around House, holding him in place, and his lips were just as eager as House's.

House slid his hand down Wilson's neck until he found the knot of his tie. Eyes closed and mouth occupied, he started working his fingers around it until the knot came undone. He pulled it apart with no complaints and then undid the first button on Wilson's shirt. Wilson was kissing him, holding their bodies together, and House pulled away. He got up, grabbed his cane, and sat down broodingly on Wilson's couch.

"What?" Wilson asked, bewildered.

"You did something," House answered without looking at him.

"House, what are you talking about?" Wilson asked, but he felt his face flushing a bit.

"You feel guilty," House explained. "You never let me take your clothes off at work, you never let me just come in here and kiss you when you're in the middle of something. You didn't try to stop me, get me to wait until she left. You let me...have my way with you. Which means you're overcompensating, which means you're feeling guilty, which means you did something."

Wilson looked at the floor. "I...I didn't _do_ anything, House. Nothing has happened between us yet, I swear." Then Wilson cringed. _Yet_. Why would he say that? He wasn't planning on anything happening. Idiot. Idiot.

House studied him. "But you plan on something happening," he said.

His resigned tone of voice just about broke Wilson's heart. "House, of course I don't. I don't want anything to happen between us. I even had her move to the other side of the desk because when she sits next to me it makes me uncomfortable."

That piqued House's curiosity. "I saw her—she keeps touching you. But she's hot. You're obviously attracted to her. Why does it make you uncomfortable?"

"It's _because_ I'm attracted to her," Wilson explained, blushing. "I'm sorry, House, I can't help it. But I haven't acted on it and I don't want to."

House was looking at him. "Something happened," he said. "You...you wouldn't be looking like this unless something happened."

Wilson's hand had found the back of his neck, which he rubbed subconsciously. "The other night...I kind of...had a dream about her. You know...a _dream_?" He caught House's eye to convey his meaning.

"A dream involving participation from Jimmy Junior?"

"You _named_ my?–forget it. Yes. That kind of dream. About her." He looked at the floor.

"And?" House prompted, sighing.

Wilson looked confused. "And what?"

"What else happened?"

"Nothing," Wilson said.

House stared at Wilson. He got up from the couch and leaned on his cane, watching Wilson for signs he was lying. "Let me get this straight," House clarified, stepping toward Wilson. "You've spent the last few days wracked with guilt because you had a sexy dream about a sexy chick?"

Wilson smirked. The way House worded it made it sound so ridiculous. He rubbed the back of his neck again and looked up at House. "Uh...yeah?"

"And that's all that happened?"

Wilson nodded.

House rolled his eyes. "You're an idiot," he said affectionately. "Wilson, _I've_ had a sex dream about that girl. I mean, if you want to act on it, it's one thing, but..."

Wilson smiled at the floor. "I guess it's a stupid thing to feel bad about. I don't want to have an affair with her, House."

"I surmised as much," House said, smirking and walking over to Wilson. He nudged the side of Wilson's face with his hand and kissed him.

Wilson smiled against House's mouth before kissing back briefly. He sighed when they pulled away. "I don't blame you for being worried," he admitted. "I know my track record...well...sucks."

"Yeah," House agreed, staying close to Wilson. "That and the fact that Cuddy hired Monica for the sole purpose of getting you to cheat on me."

"House," Wilson groaned, stepping away from him. "Quit being paranoid."

"It's not paranoia," House contradicted. "It's true. She even approached me before she hired her, told me she was 'there for me' if I needed to talk. Then I filled in the 'in case he cheats' blank. She wants to screw with our relationship and then I'll lean on her."

"Or she was just trying to make up for being a bitch lately," Wilson suggested.

"Unrealistic optimist," House accused.

"Paranoid cynic."

"Uh, realist," House corrected.

"Says you."

House didn't respond except to continue staring at Wilson. Wilson smiled back at him.

"You should go," Wilson said. "You have a case, and we left Monica out on the balcony."

"She can wait another five minutes," House decided, stepping close to Wilson again.

Wilson backed off, smirking. "At home," he promised. "Go."

House stole a kiss before he went back out the balcony toward his own office. He passed Monica outside. "Hands off my man," he said to her cheerfully.

She rolled her eyes and went back to Wilson's office.

"Monica, I'm so sorry we kept you out there for so long," Wilson apologized, smiling.

"No worries," she replied, smiling back. "It was a nice day out." She let her hand pass over his arm as she sat down. Her chest shook a bit when she scooted her chair in.

"Actually, Monica, can I talk to you about something?" Wilson asked softly.

"Sure," she responded, her face turning serious. "Is everything okay?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," Wilson insisted. "It's just...I've noticed that you tend to...put your hand on my arm or my shoulder while we're working, and...it kind of makes me uncomfortable."

"Oh," Monica said, sitting back. "James, I'm so sorry. I had no idea."

"It's all right," Wilson insisted. "You couldn't know."

"I'm sorry," she said again. "That's just the kind of person I am. I can usually tell when someone is uncomfortable with me touching them, and I back off. But Dr. Cuddy mentioned that you were so friendly, and you've always been so easygoing and nice that I figured you wouldn't have a problem with it. She actually thought that was one of the reasons I'd be such a good fit for the job, because I'm so touchy-feely and you seemed so...receptive."

Wilson had been nodding along with her, then he stopped. "Cuddy encouraged you...touching me?"

Monica shrugged. "More or less. She commented on it. I don't think I've been any friendlier with you than I am with friends, but I guess you could say she encouraged it."

Wilson leaned back in his chair, shaking his head. "Monica, I'm going to come clean with you. Is it all right if I share some information that's...kind of personal?"

She shrugged. "I guess."

"I've...actually been divorced three times. Each time I fell in love, got married, and then started to fall out of love. I'd find myself falling in love with someone else and I ended up having an affair. Three times." He put his head in his hands and sighed. "I love House. We've been friends for twenty years and he means more to me than anyone else. I don't want to risk losing him. I don't want to make the same mistake with him that I made with my wives." He looked her in the eye. "You're an attractive woman, Monica. I...I'm attracted to you. And I know that you're not...hitting on me, but when you touch me, I'm tempted. I...don't want to be tempted."

"James," she said softly, smiling up at him. "I understand. I wouldn't want to do anything to jeopardize your relationship with House. It's all right, I promise." She laid her hand on top of Wilson's as she said this, which they realized simultaneously and chuckled as she pulled back. "Sorry," she whispered, grinning apologetically. She really did have the most gorgeous smile. Wilson smiled back. They continued to look at each other for another moment.

[]

House looked up from the monster truck show on TV toward the door. He'd heard steps, but the door remained closed. He heard another door down the hall open and shut and turned back to the TV. Without looking at it, he picked up his phone and sent a message.

'Coming home for dinner?'

A moment later it buzzed, and House flipped it open again.

'Working late. Sorry. I love you.'

House sighed, grabbed his cane, and went into the kitchen.

[]

It was late. The glass doors leading outside the hospital were dark. Monica had her purse and was wearing a jacket as she got off the elevator on the first floor. She paused at the door to the clinic and went in. She knocked on Cuddy's office door, and the Dean of Medicine looked up and beckoned her in.

"Dr. Ramirez, how's it going?" Cuddy asked warmly, gesturing at the seat in front of her.

"It's going well, Dr. Cuddy, thank you for asking," Monica replied. She sat down gingerly, poised on the edge of the chair. Her voice was nervous.

"Is there something I can do for you tonight?" she asked, sitting back in her chair and putting a pen down on the desk.

"Yes, actually I had a question," Monica confessed, fidgeting with her purse.

"What's up?"

"I was wondering what the policy was on...inter-office relationships." She looked up quickly.

"You mean romantic relationships," Cuddy clarified, looking her over. "Between co-workers?"

Monica shrugged. "Maybe...between an employee and a supervisor? I checked my employment contract, but nothing was mentioned. I'm just curious. I...I don't want to jeopardize my career. I just want to know what the policy is. I figured you were the best person to ask."

Cuddy gave a wry smile. "Well, it's certainly not prohibited, but it's generally discouraged."

Monica nodded. "That's completely understandable. Thank you, Dr. Cuddy."

"You should know, though," Cuddy added as Monica started to get up. "The reason we generally discourage inter-office relationships is because if the two parties break up it creates problems for the hospital. Since your position is temporary, unless you plan on breaking up after just two months..." she shrugged. "I say, go for it."

Monica smiled. "Thank you, Dr. Cuddy. You've been very helpful." She got up and left the office.

"Have a nice night," Cuddy called after her.

"You as well, Dr. Cuddy. Thank you." Monica gave a last winning smile before closing the door behind her.


	10. The Threat

7.9—"The Threat"

It was raining outside. Monica had a black umbrella and a stylish beige trench coat, but her hair still got a little wet. She shook her umbrella out as she came through the hospital doors, grimacing. She ignored the people who did double-takes as she passed and made eye contact with no one, looking at the ground instead. Usually she took the stairs, even in heels, but today she didn't feel like walking. She pressed the up button on the elevator and leaned against the wall waiting for it. There couldn't have been more than a few ounces of rain water on her jacket and in her hair, but she appeared weighted down as she trudged down the hallway to Wilson's office. She closed the door behind her and hung her coat up on Wilson's coat rack. She sagged into his couch without looking at him.

He was looking at her, though. When she'd come in he'd looked up immediately and was now watching her anxiously.

"Well?" he asked after a moment, not able to take it any longer.

Monica raised her head from her hands and looked at him. She shook her head. "She gave me a green light."

Wilson's shoulders sagged. "You're kidding."

"I'm not," Monica insisted. She got up from Wilson's couch and sat instead in the chair across from him. "She gave _me_ a green light. Me specifically. She said they usually discourage inter-office relationships because the couple might break up and cause problems, and I was about to leave, but she gave me permission. She pretended it was because this 'shadowing' thing is only a temporary program." Monica leaned forward, elbows on her knees, and put her head in her hands. "I don't believe it. I really thought I could trust her. She's a pretty woman. I thought she'd empathize with me. Honestly, James, I really thought she would see past my looks and hire me because...because I've worked my ass off and I deserve it."

Wilson resisted the urge to get up and put a comforting arm around her shoulder. He was sure she wouldn't let anything happen between them now, not after what they had discussed with House last night, but there was still an attraction between the two of them and he didn't want to push it.

"I'm sorry, Monica," Wilson said. "I don't know what's gotten into her lately. She used to be so nice; I definitely considered her a friend, a close friend, even, but ever since House and I got together it's been like a war."

"I don't get it," Monica said. "How does she think he'll react when he finds out what she did? How can she possibly expect him to want to be with her?"

"I'm not sure," Wilson replied. "She didn't want him to find out, she wanted me to cheat on him and then she'd be there to comfort him. But she should have known he'd figure out what she was really up to. Maybe now her mindset is just, 'if I can't have him, nobody can.'"

Monica scoffed. "Does that really ever work?"

Wilson smiled involuntarily, thinking of all the times House had tried to break up a relationship _he_ was in, and then realized, with a twinge of worry, that it had worked.

"James, what's funny?"

Wilson shrugged. "It worked for House. There's a difference, though," he added quickly. "House has always wanted me, when I was single and when I was in a relationship. This is the first time Cuddy has actually tried to pursue a relationship with him. She was never interested in him until he was taken. House knows that."

Monica nodded. "So I guess we're going to have to tell him now, huh?"

Wilson sighed. "I wish we didn't. It will hurt. He does love Cuddy, a part of him always will. But we do have to tell him. He'll want to know." Wilson gave a wry smile. "He believes knowing is always better than not knowing."

[]

House was watching _Prescription Passion_ when the oncologist and wannabe oncologist entered his office.

"Whatever it is can wait," he said without looking up. "Anna and her sister are going into labor at the same time, and Brock needs to choose which one he's going to be with."

"House, we need to talk," Wilson said seriously, turning off the TV.

House looked from Wilson to Monica and back again. "Oh god, you're pregnant," he said to Wilson. Then he glanced at Monica again. "And you don't know which of us is the father."

"House, Cuddy said yes," Monica interrupted, looking him in the eye.

House looked down at his desk. "Oh."

Wilson and Monica looked at each other.

"Are...you okay?" Monica asked tentatively.

Wilson moved to put his hand on House's shoulder, but House shrugged it off. Wilson looked at Monica. "Can you give us a minute?" he asked, but House cut him off.

"No, she can stay." Then he looked at her. "You're part of this, after all."

_Wilson was in his office, leaning against his bookshelf. House was sitting in a chair in front of his desk, Monica on the couch._

_"House, I think you might be right," Wilson said. "Monica...well I wouldn't say you've been _overly_ friendly, but if Cuddy brought it up and..."_

_"So what do we do?" Monica asked. She looked a bit hurt. "How can we know for sure if she hired me because she thought I could learn from you...or because she thought I could get into your pants?"_

_"We already know," House said grumpily. "Right before she hired you, she summoned me to her office to remind me she's 'there for me.' She wants you to jump Wilson and then when I find out I'll come crying to her and she'll comfort me the only way she knows how—sex."_

_"We don't know that for _sure_," Wilson pointed out._

_"I do."_

_"Maybe I could ask her," Monica suggested._

_The two older doctors stared at her._

_She rolled her eyes. "Not why she hired me. I could ask her if...it'd be okay for me to sleep with you. If I'm...you know...allowed. Obviously she knows you're together. If she says no then she really does care and she wants to protect you, House. If she says yes, then we know why she hired me."_

_House and Wilson looked at each other. House shrugged._

_"That sounds like a plan," Wilson agreed. "Why don't you stop by her office before you leave tonight? You'll want to do it at a time when most people are gone."_

_"I will," Monica decided._

_"In that case, I'm outta here," House said, getting up. He looked at Wilson. "You coming?"_

_"Not yet, I've got a couple of evening patient meetings and then some paperwork to catch up on. You go ahead and I'll see you at home."_

_"Will you be there for dinner?" House asked, leaning against the balcony door._

_Wilson grimaced. "I'll try, House, but no promises. I'll text you later, okay?"_

_House shrugged. He put his hand in his jeans pocket and made a fist before heading outside and across the balcony to his own office._

"So what are we going to do, then?" Monica asked, sitting down in one of the chairs.

"Resign," House decided without looking at anyone. "I don't know what Cuddy's problem is, but obviously it's getting worse." He looked at Wilson. "Don't know about you, but I don't want to work for her if she's gonna do that to you."

"I agree," Wilson said slowly, "Except for the fact that she's wronging you just as much as me. And Monica, too. I certainly don't want to work for her anymore."

"Neither do I," Monica chimed in.

Wilson looked around and shrugged. "So do we do this all at once, or separately?"

"I'm gonna go," House said suddenly, standing up. "I'll tell her. Wilson, write my resignation for me. I'll give it to her later."

"House, are you sure that's a good idea?" Wilson asked, following him to the door. "Maybe I should come with you."

"No," House said, looking at him. "I need to do this. This is between me and Cuddy. You just got dragged into it. Just one of the many hazards of dating Gregory House."

"But worth it," Wilson teased, smiling at him.

House looked around for a metal pan to pretend to throw up in, but since they were in his office rather than a patient room, he settled for simply rolling his eyes before hobbling down the hall to the elevators and sticking his hand into his pocket.

[]

House's face was deadly serious as he stepped into Cuddy's office. She saw who it was and, looking just as grave, stood up from her desk and smoothed out her skirt. Her breasts were practically spilling out of her frilly pink top, but House didn't even look. Nothing about her, not even those, was attractive to him right now.

"Hello," she said cautiously, looking him over. "Is...everything all right?"

"No," House responded shortly. He was looking at the floor.

Cuddy took a few slow, tentative steps toward him. "House," she said, her voice gentle, soothing. "What happened?"

"I discovered some unpleasant news this morning," he answered, not watching her step closer. "Someone I thought cared about me betrayed me."

"Oh, House," Cuddy sighed, coming closer to him. "I can't believe it. Wilson–"

"–No," House cut her off, looking at her for the first time. "Not Wilson. Wilson loves me. Wilson wouldn't do anything to hurt me. I'm talking about you."

At this Cuddy took a step back. "Me? What are you talking about?"

"Monica came to you last night," House said, leaning on his cane and stepping forward. "She wanted to know if you had a problem with her sleeping with Wilson. You gave her a green light. Didn't even bother to mention that he was in a committed relationship with–"

"–House, no–" Cuddy tried to interrupt, backing towards her desk, but House plowed on.

"–You wanted her to sleep with him. You wanted him to have an affair, because you wanted to break us up, because now that you're the one single and miserable, you want the rest of us to be as well."

He had advanced on her and was glaring into her frightened eyes. She was shaking her head. "It's not true, House. I never said I was all right with her sleeping with Wilson."

"I don't believe you," House said coldly.

She continued to shake her head but didn't say anything else.

"I'm resigning," House said flatly, looking at her desk. "Wilson and Monica are too. You can expect our letters on your desk by this afternoon."

"What?" Cuddy asked, but she seemed to have got some of her strength back. "House, that's ridiculous, you can't resign."

"Watch me."

"No one else will hire you," Cuddy scoffed, almost smiling. "_Foreman _couldn't even get another job because he was too much like you. You're a liability, House, no one will go near you. You think I'm trying to break you up? Well go ahead, resign, House. Try living for a few months without your job, see how long your relationship lasts then."

She was standing up straight now, and House was glaring at her. She was right. He knew she was right. House _wouldn't _be able to get a job anywhere else. Wilson obviously would. Even with Wilson in his life, without his job, House would be nothing short of depressed, and seeing Wilson able to work would cause him to silently resent him. They'd get into fights all the time. They would eventually break up.

House had dug his hand into his jeans pocket and it was curled into a tight fist. He wasn't happy about it, but he was a realist, and he knew to prevent himself from being completely miserable, he'd need to stay at PPTH.

"Fine," House agreed shortly. "I'm not resigning. I'll stay. But you're nothing more than my boss from now on, Cuddy. Any friendship we might have had is long over. And I can guarantee that Wilson will still be resigning."

"No he won't," Cuddy contradicted, sitting back down at her desk.

"What makes you think that?"

She looked up at him. "Because if Wilson resigns, I'm firing you."

[]

House sat himself moodily down in Wilson's chair. The two other doctors in the room looked at him.

"Well?" Wilson asked finally for the second time that morning. "How'd it go?"

"I can't resign," House said. "I won't be able to get a job anywhere else. Apparently when you mix nut case, addict, and cripple, you get a recipe for disaster that no hospital will touch. You can still resign, Wilson, but she says she'll fire me if you do."

"What a bitch!" Monica said unexpectedly.

"Well she's gotta be bluffing," Wilson said, giving House a baffled look. "House, did it seem like she was bluffing?"

House shrugged. "Maybe."

"Well it's worked," Wilson admitted, slumping down in his chair. "I'm not resigning if there's a chance you'll get fired."

"One of us has to," House said, looking at Wilson and ignoring Monica. "We're letting her push us around. We both stay here, Wilson, it's just gonna get worse."

"How could it possibly get worse?"

"She's our boss, Wilson. She'll make us miserable. Just leave. I'm sure she won't really fire me, and if she does we can sue her for wrongful termination. I need to stay here, but you...you don't."

Monica felt like an intruder as she watched the two men staring at each other. They weren't touching at all, but she still felt like this was a private moment she shouldn't witness. She cleared her throat to remind them she was still in the room and they still had plans to make.

"I don't want to risk you getting fired, but I don't want to stay here like this either," Wilson said. "Maybe...I don't know, maybe we could get her to apologize or something."

House scoffed. "You think you could forgive her for this?"

"I don't know," Wilson admitted. "I won't be inviting her to any more dinner parties, but...if she really were sorry, I think I could find a way to still work for her. House, I'd rather us both be working for her than have you out of a job."

"You could threaten to sue her if she fires you," Monica suggested.

They looked at her. She shrugged. "If you could somehow prove that she's only firing you because he's resigning, you could sue her for wrongful termination, like you said. You can have your job, Wilson can have his, and if she doesn't cave you could win enough money to start your own practice."

"Right," House said, staring at her. "All we have to do is wait for her to slip up and write 'his boyfriend resigned' under the reason for termination and get a copy of the file. Great idea. Hey, if this job doesn't work out for you, you've got a place on my team."

"House," Wilson interrupted. "It's not a bad idea. We both know she's probably bluffing. If she threatened you to try and get me to stay, she might threaten me too. When I go in there, I'll...wear a wire. We'll see what she has to say and...hopefully it will be something we can use."

House's face flickered for a moment into an evil grin. "Monica, give me your cell phone," he instructed.

"What are you doing?" Wilson asked, watching his shadow hand her blackberry to his best friend.

"We need to get you bugged, and we need information to use against Cuddy in a lawsuit," House explained, punching numbers, "And I know exactly where to get it."

[-]

Lucas Douglas snapped photos of a boring housewife cleaning her kitchen. Some clients really were idiots, but at least they paid him. This was the third day in a row he'd sat outside her house, watching her clean and run errands and change the baby's diapers. She most certainly was not having an affair. She was probably the most boring, average person in the world.

His cell phone rang and Lucas glanced at it. It wasn't one of his usual contacts. Maybe a new client. Maybe a client with more interesting people to spy on. Lucas picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

"Hello," a voice responded. Lucas stared at the phone. The number wasn't familiar, but the caller was. "How would you like to help us dig up some dirt on a one Lisa Cuddy?"

[]

Wilson fidgeted with his pocket protector as he waited outside Cuddy's door, but ceased immediately when she called him in.

"What can I do for you, Dr. Wilson?"

The formality was not uncommon between them. While they usually called each other by their first names in social settings, this clearly wasn't the case now, and in the hospital, while she sometimes called him just Wilson, she used the title more frequently than she did with House.

Wilson took a deep breath. He wanted to yell at her, scream at her, berate her for what she did, lose his temper, maybe throw something through a window, but he couldn't. He had to remain professional. In preparation for this, he'd spent last night venting to House in the condo, which eased his anger somewhat but wasn't nearly as satisfying as yelling at the cause of the problem would have been. His rant had ended with some passionate couch sex, though, so at least there was that.

_Keep your temper_, Wilson reminded himself. _Stay professional_. He took an envelope out of his lab coat pocket and placed it on Cuddy's desk. "My resignation," he said.

"Wilson, don't do this," Cuddy implored, standing up from her chair. "You've been my head of oncology for years, everyone loves you."

"Then you should't have a problem writing me a letter of recommendation," Wilson replied, keeping his tone even. "You can let me know when it's ready, I'll have Greg pick it up for me."

"Please don't," she asked, coming around the table to stand next to him. Her four-inch heels made her nearly as tall as him, and she stood close, looking in his eyes. "This has been a misunderstanding. I'm sure we can work it out."

"What I'm not understanding," Wilson said, "is why, after years of friendship, you're willing to sever ties with both House and myself by trying to break us up."

"I'm not trying to break you up," Cuddy insisted. "Not anymore. When you first started...dating, all right, I was jealous, seeing him with you made me realize how much I love him, but I acted irrationally and I apologized for that. It's over. I accept your relationship and I want both of you to be happy."

"And I believed that, until you gave Monica permission to have an affair with me. You didn't try to warn House, you didn't try to talk me out of it. You wanted me to sleep with her."

"I never gave her permission to have an affair with you!" Cuddy insisted, starting to lose _her_ temper now. "She asked about inter-office relationships, she never mentioned names. She could have been talking about anybody."

"Right, because she has hours of one-on-one contact with so many doctors in this hospital!" Wilson retorted, forgetting his intent to remain calm. "Just admit it, Cuddy, you set us up so House would get hurt and go to you. You don't want him to be happy, you just want him all to yourself. And if you'd considered that a year ago, you'd have him, but you missed your chance. He's with me, and I'm going to do everything in my power to keep it that way. He _wants_ to be with me, Lisa. Sometimes he tells me...he's the closest he's been to happy. Lisa, you've been friends for years. I know you care about him. Isn't that what you want for him?" Wilson sighed. "I don't want to resign. I'd like things between you and me and you and House to go back to the way they were before. Please, if you just admit what you did and apologize for it, I'll tear up that letter. Just...please, Lisa."

"Wilson, I didn't do anything wrong," Cuddy said. "I didn't give Monica my blessing to sleep with_ you_ and I certainly didn't hire her to break you and House up. I have nothing to apologize for, Wilson. But you're not resigning."

"I am resigning," Wilson contradicted. "My mind was made up the moment I found out you're plotting against us. I can't work under these conditions, Lisa. I can't work for a woman who wants to steal away House's—and my—one chance at happiness."

Not looking at her, Wilson turned around and started to leave the office.

His hand was inches from the doorknob when she spoke.

"I'll fire him."

Wilson turned around. Cuddy was standing in front of her desk, her arms crossed.

"You're not leaving, Wilson." She shrugged. "You go, he goes. And if you really love him, you know how much this job means to him. You'll stay."

Wilson looked at her a moment. "No," he said. "I don't believe you, Cuddy. I'm calling your bluff. I'm leaving. If you can find it in you to admit what you did was wrong and make a sincere apology, I might come back. But right now I'm on my way to my office to clean out my things."

He reached for the door handle successfully this time, and walked out.

[]

Taub was accompanying the team's most recent patient, who had just been discharged, out the door. It was early morning, too early for House to be here, but if Taub was in then the others were, too. Cuddy pressed the up button and stepped into the elevator.

Foreman was sitting at the desk in the diagnostic room while Chase and Thirteen chatted at the table. They all looked up when she entered.

"Good morning," Cuddy greeted. "Dr. Foreman, may I have a word with you?"

They stepped through the adjoining doors into House's office.

"What's up?" Foreman asked once the doors were closed.

"How would you feel," Cuddy asked, smiling at him, "about becoming the head of diagnostics?"

Foreman looked at her. "Again?"

Cuddy shook her head. "Permanently this time."

"You mean...co-department heads?"

"Nope. Just you."

He gave her a skeptical look. "In charge of House? How many times have we tried that, and when has it ever actually worked?"

"Not in charge of House," Cuddy contradicted. "House's salary, his office, if he weren't handicapped I'd give you his parking space. Just you, in charge of Drs. Taub, Chase, and Hadley. Permanently."

He still looked suspicious. "Is House resigning?"

"Foreman, just answer the question," Cuddy said. "How would you feel about permanently becoming the department head?"

Foreman hesitated a moment, then shrugged. "Sign me up."


	11. Pink Slip

**A/N:** Would like to thank Potterworm for suggesting the whole hospital find out about Cuddy's threat to Wilson and House. That did not occur to me but I love it.

7.10—"Pink Slip"

The couple stood in Wilson's empty office, looking around to make sure he hadn't left anything. House felt a sense of foreboding, and he knew exactly why. The last time the office had looked like this, Wilson had left him.

Wilson read House's mind somehow and curled an arm around his waist. "I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "When you come home after work, I'll be there. I promise."

"I know that," House answered, irritated at his irrational worry. He walked around the office as a pretence for shrugging Wilson's arm off. He ran a hand across the smooth wood of Wilson's desk. It was usually covered—neatly, though, of course—in patient files and paperwork. Now, like the rest of the office, it was completely empty. House eased himself up onto the desk and watched Wilson taking a last look around his office.

"Ready to go?" Wilson asked.

House patted the wood next to him. "This is our last chance to have sex on your desk," he said with a grin. He expected Wilson to roll his eyes, maybe grab his last box off the floor and start to head out the door. What he didn't expect was for Wilson to grin back at him, put his keys down, and join House on the desk.

"Seriously?" House asked, trying unsuccessfully to hide the excitement from his voice as Wilson made to kiss him. "What, now that it's not your office anymore you agree to office sex?"

"It's mostly to spite Cuddy," Wilson explained, lifting his mouth from House's neck. "Something about defiling her hospital's property with you sounds really appealing to me, considering what she did to us."

"Wilson, you dog," House accused, but he was grinning, clearly thrilled at the prospect of getting office sex and sending a big 'F you' to Cuddy at the same time.

Wilson didn't respond except to continue mouthing House's neck, but House took his chin in his hand in order to kiss him properly.

[]

Cuddy opened the door of the diagnostic conference room. "Is House here?" she asked the four doctors sitting at the table.

"He just left," Thirteen answered. "His backpack's gone, I think he was going to grab Wilson and go home. Why?"

"Wilson was supposed to drop off the keys to his office," Cuddy said distractedly. She sighed. "He probably just didn't want to see me. Maybe he left them on his desk."

The door to Wilson's office was locked, which irritated Cuddy, so she went through the diagnostic room into House's office and out onto his balcony. She was pretty sure Wilson's balcony door was never locked. Carefully sliding herself over the dividing wall, she headed across to his office. The balcony blinds were closed, but there was a slight gap in between two of them and Cuddy noticed movement inside. She frowned. If House had left, why would Wilson still be here? She peeked through the blinds, then gasped, clapped a hand to her mouth, and backed away.

She was a little shocked—House was one thing, but Wilson agreeing to this?—but that didn't make her any less thrilled. She quickly whipped out her cell phone and snapped a few pictures. This was perfect, too perfect. Cuddy thanked god for House's insatiable sex drive and for Wilson's inexplicable willingness to go along with him. She was going to fire House, that she knew, but the issue would have been coming up with a legitimate reason. Now she had one. No one on the board would question her decision to fire House now. Cuddy never thought she'd be so happy to inadvertently witness two men having sex.

[]

House returned from a patient room to find his door locked. He frowned. Why was his office locked? There was a reason he only locked it at night—he didn't carry his keys around with him. Probably an underling messing with him. He tried the door from the conference room for good measure, but whoever had locked him out of his office had clearly done a thorough job. Automatically he headed to Wilson's office to get there through the balcony, but then he remembered.

The diagnostician paged his four employees to his office and waited impatiently for them to show up.

"What's the matter?" Thirteen asked worriedly, hurrying down the hallway. Chase and Foreman followed her, looking at House with confusion. He wasn't surprised that Taub hadn't even bothered to run, but waited for his fourth fellow to arrive before holding his hands out to them.

"Keys," he said without looking at them. When no keys fell into his hands, he looked up, at each of them in turn. They all looked confused.

"Let me get this straight," Taub said. "You sent us an emergency page because you locked yourself out of your office?"

"No, I sent an emergency page because one of _you_ locked me out of my office. Just give me my keys and then you can go test Mrs. Arm Paralysis."

"House, none of us has your keys," Foreman said, looking at him.

"Then locking me out was a pretty stupid thing to do," House retorted, annoyed. "You were in charge for awhile," he said to Foreman, "Don't you have a set?"

"House...I can't let you in," Foreman said without looking at him. "Cuddy just spoke to me. As of...about a half hour ago, you don't work here anymore."

House stared at him. The others were looking awkwardly at the floor. House looked back into his office and noticed, for the first time, all his stuff was gone.

[]

"You're gonna fire me and not even tell me about it?" House stormed, letting the French doors slam behind him.

"I was looking for you!" Cuddy replied. "I went by your office but you weren't there. I can't tell you if I can't find you."

"They have this new invention out now, it's been proven very useful in hospitals—it's called a pager. You use it to find a doctor when you can't find them."

"Oh, please," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes. "You never answer any of my pages anyway. And speaking of which, hand it over. There's a box of your stuff over there."

"You can't just do this," House said, getting frustrated and trying hard not to show it. "Wilson quits, so you punish him by firing me? In what universe is that legal?"

"Oh, I didn't fire you because Wilson resigned," Cuddy promised. "You're right, that would be unethical and illegal. No, I fired you for illicit behaviour on hospital grounds. I would have fired Wilson too, if he hadn't already left."

House looked at her suspiciously. "What are you talking about?"

Cuddy mimicked a baritone, "_Oh, Wilson, yeah, there, Wilson. Oh my god! James! Yeah! Oh, do that again, Wilson!_" She switched to another voice and continued, "_Yes, Greg, harder, oh god!–_"

"–Shut up!" House couldn't remember the last time he felt this pissed off and embarrassed. He didn't get embarrassed. He was always completely up front about anything to do with sex. He relished in making other people feel awkward but never had that problem himself.

But his relationship with Wilson, that was private, that was personal, and Cuddy had absolutely no right to make fun of it like this. What the hell was wrong with her? Part of him was angry with himself for letting it happen—a third of the fun of office sex was the chance of getting caught—but mostly he was incensed with Cuddy for trivialising the one thing that truly gave his life meaning. In that instant he hated her. The blood was pumping through his body, he imagined his hatred radiating from him. He had absolutely no idea how he could ever have considered himself in love with her. She was a conniving, manipulative bitch and he hated every inch of her, from her five hundred dollar heels to her cold, soulless eyes. He was glad she'd fired him because he never wanted to look at her again. He and Wilson would leave, they'd get away from this place, move far away. They'd sue Cuddy for all her and her precious hospital's worth and start their own medical practice where they'd never have to see her again. It'd be someplace warm. The New Jersey winters were torture for House's leg.

Not bothering to pick up his box of stuff (not that he could carry it anyway), he grabbed his keys from the top and left the office. He decided he would never come back.

[]

She really didn't think she'd have to do it. It was weird, walking past the office and seeing Foreman there instead of House. Part of her still expected Wilson to come back, to ask for House's job back. But even if he did, she couldn't give it to him. She'd promised Foreman it wouldn't be like before, and she couldn't break that promise. Dr. Foreman was a very good doctor, and he'd earned this. He'd been working toward becoming head of the department for years. It was his time.

Cuddy wondered how long it would be before House and Wilson broke up. Would he come to her? Probably not; he'd blame her. But maybe...maybe he'd realise that with Wilson gone, she was all he had left. Then maybe he'd come to her.

And she'd have to break her promise to Foreman and give House his job back. Or, she could always try and find a reason to fire Foreman. Cuddy was watching the differential through the glass walls of the conference room and she frowned, thinking about it. If only Lucas were still speaking with her, she could ask him to get some dirt on Foreman in case she needed it later, but their breakup had left him royally pissed off and she doubted he'd want anything to do with her, even if it was just business.

"Dr. Lisa Cuddy?" a voice interrupted her reflections.

"Yes?" she said, looking around for the speaker. A man in a black suit wordlessly handed her a thick envelope before turning around and walking away. She furrowed her brow, wondering what it was. She pulled on the metal pins and opened the flap, taking out the first sheet of paper.

[]

House glanced at his watch and then at the telephone. He looked into the kitchen at his former co-worker and smiled. "Wilson, Wilson, watch this," he said. "Three...two...one–"

The phone rang.

House and Wilson grinned at each other as House picked up the phone.

"House-Wilson residence."

"_You're suing me?_" Cuddy's voice blared into his ear. "_What the hell, House?_"

"You fired me," House replied conversationally. "Without just cause, I might add."

Cuddy gave a humourless laugh over the phone. "_House, I've got years worth of just cause for firing you. I could have done it easily and legally even without my official reason of you and Wilson screwing on a hospital desk–_"

House winced at Wilson's stricken face. "She knows about that?"

"It's nothing," House said quickly, avoiding the younger man's eye.

"_–So go ahead, try and sue me, House, I wish you luck. All I need to do is show a judge the pictures of you two in Wilson's old office I have on my phone and the case will be dismissed. You stepped over the line with that, House, no one will see you as a victim._" And with that, she hung up.

Wilson sat down on the couch looking shocked. "You didn't tell me she caught us having sex!"

House shrugged without looking at him. "Doesn't matter. We've still got the recording."

"But even with the recording, this changes things! A court might very well believe that she didn't mean what she said, and face it, Greg, it's not like this was your first indiscretion. With everything you've done over the years, having sex at work is perfectly reasonable grounds for dismissal!"

His tone wasn't angry, not at all. It was worried. House didn't say anything.

Wilson put his face in his hands. "This is all my fault. I was so mad at Cuddy, I just wanted to do any little rebellious thing to get back at her. I should have known we'd get caught, I should have said no, waited until we got home. Now you're out of a job and it's my–"

"–Yeah, Wilson," House said, glaring at him. "How dare you let me seduce you? You're right, you're completely to blame. We'll lose the lawsuit, I'll never work again and it will be your fault. You know what, I think I'm going to break up with you now. I can't be with someone who'll do something as unthinkable as sleep with me."

Wilson watched as House continued to stare at him intensely before launching himself across the couch and forcing their lips together.

"It happened, Wilson," House said, his eyes still closed. "I asked for it, you gave it to me, we both knew the risk involved, and it happened. Cuddy would have fired me anyway, and we still have the recording. She doesn't know about that, and maybe once she does...she might back off."

"So what do we do?" Wilson asked, holding House against him.

House smiled. "She found a way to fire me...maybe we can find a way to fire her."

[]

House had wanted to order pizza and drink beer, but Wilson had insisted on an elaborate dinner with expensive wine.

"I thought we decided no more dinner parties after that last fiasco," House grumbled, grimacing as Wilson threw a button-down shirt at him.

"It's not a party, it's just Chase and Thirteen," Wilson disagreed. "But I still want you to wear a nice shirt."

"What do you call this?" House asked, gesturing at his rock tee.

"A faded black piece of cotton."

"It's just gonna come off anyway," House pointed out.

"Not unless you behave. Come on, we're doing this to help our case against Cuddy. The only way you work again is if she caves. Come on, we need to do this."

House sighed and pulled on his shirt.

[]

"I'm going to come clean," Wilson said, putting down his glass of wine. "I actually had an ulterior motive for inviting you over."

"He wants to try a four-way," House cut him off. "But he thought while you two still worked for me it'd be awkward, so..."

Wilson pulled a USB drive out of his jacket pocket. "I'm not sure exactly what you were told about House's and my...leaving the hospital..."

"Cuddy wouldn't say why you left," Chase said. He turned to House. "All Foreman would tell us is that you were doing something 'inappropriate,' which doesn't really make sense considering only about 2% of what you do _is _appropriate–"

"–And Cuddy said she's not at liberty to say why she fired you—her words—so I snuck into her office. She had pictures on her cell phone of you two..."

"Makin' hot sweet man love," House supplied.

Thirteen smirked. "Nice ass, by the way."

"It's my best feature."

"No it's not," Wilson contradicted. "Anyway, yes, that was probably against our better judgement, and it certainly gave her an _excuse_ to fire House, but it's not the real reason. Listen..."

He stuck the USB drive into his laptop, pulled up an audio program and pressed play. Thirteen and Chase leaned their heads forward to hear better.

_I don't want to resign. I'd like things between you and me and you and House to go back to the way they were before. Please, if you just admit what you did and apologise for it, I'll tear up that letter. Just...please, Lisa._

_Wilson, I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't give Monica my blessing to sleep with _you_ and I certainly didn't hire her to break you and House up. I have nothing to apologise for, Wilson. But you're not resigning._

_I am resigning. My mind was made up the moment I found out you're plotting against us. I can't work under these conditions, Lisa. I can't work for a woman who wants to steal away House's—and my—one chance at happiness._

_..._

_..._

_I'll fire him. You're not leaving, Wilson. You go, he goes. And if you really love him, you know how much this job means to him. You'll stay._

_No. I don't believe you, Cuddy. I'm calling your bluff. I'm leaving. If you can find it in you to admit what you did was wrong and make a sincere apology, I might come back. But right now I'm on my way to my office to clean out my things._

Wilson pressed stop. Chase and Thirteen stared at him and House.

"I don't get it," Thirteen said finally. "Did she really want to fire House or was she just trying to get you to stay?"

"I'm not sure," Wilson said, shrugging. "All I know is that ever since she found out we're together she's been trying to break us up. She hired Monica because she thought I would cheat with her."

"She'd do that?" Thirteen asked, wide-eyed.

"She did," House grumbled. "I wanted to leave too, but Cuddy very kindly pointed out that if I did I wouldn't be able to get a job anywhere else. She thinks that with me out of work, Wilson and I won't last."

"Why not just fire you right there, then?" Chase asked. "Why wait for Wilson to leave?"

"She needed me as leverage to get him to stay," House explained. "She probably thought Mr. Panty Peeler would cheat eventually, if she gave it more time, or maybe she has another evil plan that she can't put into action with him gone. Firing me was a last resort. She has it in her mind that if Wilson and I break up, I'll go to her. Which I'm more likely to do if I see her every day."

"She really thinks that?" Thirteen asked.

House shrugged. "I don't know."

"So what happens now?" Chase asked. "You have this proof that she fired you on a whim rather than an actual reason, so what are you going to do with it?"

"We're trying to sue her," Wilson explained, "but I'd really rather it not come to that. We think she might fold if...well..."

"We want you to spread this around the hospital," House cut in. "Maybe her reputation gets trashed, maybe she loses her job, maybe she gives me my job back if we tell the board she didn't mean it, I don't know. Whatever she gets, she deserves."

They all stared at him.

"Greg," Wilson said softly. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

"Not here," House said without looking at him. "And don't call me that. Not here."

Chase picked up the USB drive. He looked at Wilson. "This is what you want?" he clarified.

Wilson was still looking at House, but he turned to Chase and nodded. "It's what we need."

[]

Thirteen came downstairs to do her clinic duty. Now that their patient had been cured under Foreman's supervision, she had time to catch up on her hours. She was right in front of Cuddy's office when she fell to the floor. She didn't pass out; her body started jerking all over the place. Clinic patients stood up in their chairs in the waiting area to see what was going on while the nurses started gathering around.

Cuddy hadn't been looking up when the seizure started, but she heard the commotion outside and as soon as she saw what was going on she got up and hurried out of her office to see what had happened. What she didn't see was Dr. Chase sneaking into her office while everyone else's eyes were on the seizing Dr. Hadley.

He stuck the USB drive into the side of the computer and pulled up her email, which, in her haste to attend to Thirteen, she had not logged out of. He didn't enter a subject line or a message, but he added the audio file as an attachment. He clicked the "To" link, which showed a list of doctors and a list of lists of doctors. He clicked the list that read "All Staff" before hitting send. Then he deleted the message from her "sent" folder and grabbed the USB drive.

Chase joined the crowd around his girlfriend and, hoping his acting skills wouldn't fail him, asked in a worried tone what happened.


	12. Response

7.11—"Response"

"I'd like a large coffee, please," Dr. Cuddy said to the barista in the hospital cafeteria. The woman didn't say anything. She prepared Cuddy's coffee and handed it to her with an unfriendly look. The smile on Cuddy's face faltered, but she didn't say anything. The barista was probably just having a bad morning.

Cuddy took her coffee and headed to her office. Several nurses and a paeds doctor stepped aside and avoided her eye on the way there. She looked down at herself. Had Rachel spit up on this shirt? But no, she was clean. It was probably nothing, she was just being paranoid.

"Good morning," Cuddy said to Brenda as she entered the clinic on the way to her office. Brenda just glared at her and didn't say anything. Cuddy shifted the coffee to her left hand so she could open her door, now feeling worried. What was going on?

Throughout the morning, no one came to see her with a problem. She tried to call a couple different departments to set up meetings, but neither answered their phones. Cuddy told herself it was just a coincidence, they were busy with patients. They weren't avoiding her. Then she checked her email for the third time in an hour and noticed something. No one within the hospital had sent her anything since yesterday. All of her emails were from doctors at other hospitals. No one, not a single member of her staff, had contacted her in any way all morning.

Cuddy went through her day, trying to ignore her increased feelings of paranoia and isolation. At 1pm she finally forced herself to get up and go back out to get some lunch.

It was the same story. The moment she left her office, heads turned to the floor, avoiding her eye. People moved out of the way as she passed. Even the workers in the cafeteria handed her her food silently, making eye contact for only a second, and that was accompanied by a glare.

Cuddy felt like she was in some sort of bizarre dream. The lunchroom cashier held out her hand for the money without even telling Cuddy her total. She was almost prepared to take her salad back to her office to eat when someone finally spoke to her. It was an E.R. Nurse, a woman in her late thirties.

"Dr. Cuddy, I was certainly no fan of Dr. House's, but what you've done is wrong. I think you should be ashamed of yourself."

And she walked away before Cuddy could even open her mouth to ask what she was talking about. She looked around the cafeteria and spotted Foreman sitting in a booth by himself. She'd just promoted him; he wouldn't treat her like the scum of the earth for no understandable reason. Cuddy placed her salad on his table and, with a quick smile, sat down across from him.

"How's it going?" she asked.

Foreman glared at her. "You shouldn't have done that," he said.

"Foreman, what are you talking about?" Cuddy asked, her frustration getting the better of her. "What is going on?"

"You told me you fired House because you caught him having sex with Wilson in the hospital. You said the job was mine." He looked at her, a bit hurt and angry.

"That is the reason I fired House," Cuddy insisted. "I have proof that it happened, I took it to the board, they approved it."

"But you would have fired him anyway," Foreman argued. "You approached me about the job before that happened. But after Wilson left. And after you told Wilson you'd fire House if he left."

Cuddy looked scandalised. She lowered her voice and leaned toward Foreman. "How do you know about that?"

Foreman gave her a confused look. "The email."

Cuddy's face was blank. Comprehension dawned on Foreman.

"You didn't send the email, did you? Someone else hacked into your email and sent it. Well it's a good thing they did. Do I want this job? Yes. But not like this. Goodbye, Cuddy."

He picked up his tray and left.

Abandoning her lunch, Cuddy got up and hurried back to her office. She checked through her sent mail folder, she searched Foreman's name and went through every email she'd sent him since House had left. Nothing. Nothing unusual. Nothing to suggest what she did. If someone had hacked into her email, they'd deleted the evidence. And now she didn't even know what she had supposedly sent.

Cuddy's searchings were interrupted by a knock on her door. It was Dr. Trobe, one of her more senior employees and board members.

"Good afternoon," Cuddy said, trying to look professional. "What can I do for you?"

He did not return her smile. "In light of the recent information we've received about the resignation of Dr. James Wilson and the termination of Dr. Gregory House, the board has called a meeting to discuss...you. And we've decided we'd like to hear from you before we make any decisions."

"Decisions about what?" Cuddy pressed, standing up. "Phillip, I'm on the board, if you have a meeting, I've got to be present–"

"–Not when you're the doctor whose employment we're discussing," Dr. Trobe contradicted.

"What?" Cuddy asked, following him anxiously as he left her office. "My employment is at stake, what are you talking about?"

"As I've said, we've decided to hear from you before we make any decisions," he repeated. "The entire board will have a discussion, first with you present and then without you present. Whatever you need to say, you can say it then."

She followed him into a conference room where, to her slight surprise, the rest of her board was already seated. Dr. Trobe gestured her toward the chair at the foot of the table, which she settled in uncomfortably while he took the head.

"The rest of us know why we're here," he began. "So, to start with, Dr. Cuddy, I'd like you to identify this."

There was a laptop computer on the table, and as he spoke he pressed a button, causing an audio file to start playing. Cuddy heard Wilson's voice,

_I don't want to resign. I'd like things between you and me and you and House to go back to the way they were before. Please, if you just admit what you did and apologise for it, I'll tear up that letter. Just...please, Lisa._

_Wilson, I didn't do anything wrong. I didn't give Monica my blessing to sleep with _you_ and I certainly didn't hire her to break you and House up. I have nothing to apologise for, Wilson. But you're not resigning._

_I am resigning. My mind was made up the moment I found out you're plotting against us. I can't work under these conditions, Lisa. I can't work for a woman who wants to steal away House's–and my–one chance at happiness._

_..._

_..._

_I'll fire him. You're not leaving, Wilson. You go, he goes. And if you really love him, you know how much this job means to him. You'll stay._

_No. I don't believe you, Cuddy. I'm calling your bluff. I'm leaving. If you can find it in you to admit what you did was wrong and make a sincere apology, I might come back. But right now I'm on my way to my office to clean out my things._

The board stared at Cuddy while she struggled to regain her composure.

"Dr. Cuddy," Dr. Trobe prompted. "Can you identify this recording?"

Cuddy cleared her throat. "That was...a conversation I had with Dr. Wilson just before he resigned. I...was not aware the conversation was being recorded."

"So you acknowledge that was your voice on the file, in addition to Dr. Wilson's?" another doctor sitting to the right of Dr. Trobe asked.

Cuddy nodded. "I...in retrospect, I realise I should not have made that threat. I have no excuse for it other than that I was emotional, I'd worked with Dr. Wilson for years and I did not want to lose him based on a misunderstanding. It was a threat I never intended to carry out. What I said, I said solely for the purpose of trying to talk Wilson out of resigning. I still shouldn't have said it and I regret saying it, but Dr. Wilson was right, I was bluffing. I didn't fire Dr. House until two days later, after I discovered him and Dr. Wilson...engaging in illicit behaviour on hospital property. That has already been discussed with this board. If Dr. Wilson hadn't already resigned I would have let him go as well. And I would have fired House for it regardless of whether Wilson resigned. I would not have fired him if the...incident in Wilson's office hadn't occurred."

The other members of the board exchanged glances.

"I've got to say, Lisa," Dr. Trobe spoke up. "It's a pretty convenient coincidence that Drs. House and Wilson engage in this illicit behaviour, giving you an excuse to fire the former, less than forty-eight hours after you threaten to do so."

"Perhaps, but that's all it is—a coincidence," Cuddy insisted. "I have irrefutable evidence that it took place and neither Dr. House nor Dr. Wilson denied that it happened. I asked this board if we wanted to allow Dr. House to make a statement before we agreed to dismiss him but we decided the evidence spoke for itself. I admit, I've given House a lot of room over the years to operate as he pleases, but we all agreed this crosses the line. What our employees do in their personal life is not the business of the hospital as long as they keep it out of the hospital. Dr. House dug his own grave on this one—I'm sure you'd be calling me into a meeting if I _hadn't_ let him go for his behaviour. I admit, saying what I said to Dr. Wilson was a mistake, and it's unfortunate that it came at such a time to cause you to doubt my reliability, but I assure you, the threat was completely empty and the fact that House's termination occurred so shorty after it was an unfortunate coincidence. I can also promise that nothing like this will ever happen again."

Cuddy held her breath as the board members looked at each other.

"All right," Dr. Trobe said. "We've heard what you had to say. I'm going to ask you to step outside while we discuss this privately, and we'll call you back in once we've reached a decision."

The rest of the board nodded along with him, and Cuddy expelled her breath as she got up.

It wasn't very long before they called her back in. Cuddy wasn't sure if that meant good news or bad news, but she kept a couple of fingers on her wrist, monitoring her speeding heart rate.

"In light of what you've had to say, we've decided not to suspend your employment," Dr. Trobe said, causing Cuddy to breathe a silent sigh of relief. "We still take your threat to Dr. Wilson very seriously, but we agree that Dr. House's actions merit termination despite this. And we recommend you write Drs. House and Wilson a letter of apology. We will be sending a memo to the staff with our decision, but since the two of them no longer work here, it would be best for yourself and the hospital if you let them know what happened." At this point, Dr. Trobe did give a small smile. "You wouldn't want to get involved in a lawsuit."

[]

Cuddy felt relieved as she walked back down to her office, but that didn't make her any less pissed off. How dare Wilson record that conversation without informing her? In her office, on her turf? It could have gotten her fired. And yes, the board would send out a memo and the staff would know they supported her, but people would still draw their own conclusions.

And what if—Cuddy winced—what if this got out? What if some of her doctors had already sent it to contacts at other hospitals? That recording could destroy her reputation! Wilson and House were playing dirty, hitting below the belt. At least Cuddy had kept her sex pictures between herself and the board. Of course, it was too late to spread those now. The board would probably know it was her. And they would not be impressed. No, she was too professional for that.

She would have to find another way to hit them below the belt.

[]

"I'm not wearing a tie," House announced.

"Greg, we're meeting with Cuddy and her lawyer. You should wear a tie."

"I'll wear a tie if it needs to be done to win a bet, or on a first date, or when I go to court. We're not going to court. It's just a lawyer meeting. It's a conference room at the hospital. I'm not wearing a tie."

Wilson sighed and straightened his own tie. "All right, whatever you want, House. Are you ready to go, then? We don't want to be late."

House scoffed. "You don't want to be late. I'm indifferent to lateness."

"House," Wilson said, grabbing his arm and forcing him to catch his eye. "You want to do this, right? This was your idea."

"I know," House said, stepping back and breaking eye contact. "Yes, I want to do this. She hurt us. I want to win zillions of dollars in a lawsuit, or the hospital, so we can both work and we don't have to work for her."

"But you'll settle for your job back," Wilson clarified, scanning his eyes carefully. "What she did was wrong, but if she offers your job back, you'd rather work for her than not at all."

House didn't look at him.

"House?" Wilson prompted.

"Yes," House said finally. "If she folds enough to give me my job back, I'll take it. But as a last resort, all right?"

"All right," Wilson agreed, eyeing House attentively.

"Let's go," House said, not looking at him. "We don't want to be late."

[]

They met their lawyer at the hospital. He was a dignified older man with grey hair and a matching suit. House noticed uneven breathing on occasion and wanted to diagnose him with a lung problem, but he would need a scan first and kept remembering he couldn't order scans anymore.

House trudged down the hallways with Wilson and the lawyer, trying not to look at anything. Why did it have to be here? Why couldn't they meet at one of their lawyers' offices?

The blinds were drawn in the conference room, rendering the glass walls pointless. It was just as well; House didn't want to spend more time with Lisa Cuddy in his field of vision than was strictly necessary. Their lawyer entered the conference room first, taking a seat at the table. House followed with Wilson behind him.

Sitting on the end of the table were two women. Cuddy was wearing her best professional-seeming low-cut blouse. The fact that she was leaning over the table to read something gave everyone in the room an ample view of her cleavage, but House ignored her to focus on her lawyer.

A woman, middle-aged but still attractive, with shiny, straight dark brown hair. There were laugh lines around her mouth, but they added character rather than detracting from her beauty. She was wearing a suit showing far less cleavage than Cuddy, but it was still feminine. On her chest rested a small crucifix on a gold chain around her neck.

House opened his mouth; he had stopped breathing.

Stacy Warner looked up and smiled at him. "Hi, Greg," she said softly.

House didn't say anything. He didn't close his mouth. His brilliant blue eyes seemed faded, registering first shock, then a flicker of pain before finally reverting to a forced stoicism. For a moment he stared at Stacy, then he turned his head a fraction of an inch to look at Cuddy. She was biting her bottom lip and she swallowed.

"House..." Cuddy started, her tone apologetic, as she started to get up.

House turned around. "Forget it," he muttered to a distressed looking Wilson. "They win. I don't care. Let's go."

"House–" Wilson started to say, but he was interrupted by Cuddy.

"House, I–"

"–Get away from me," House said, turning to glare at her and wrenching his arm from where she'd tried to touch him. "I said you win. Isn't that enough for you? Keep your hospital, keep you money, keep–"

"–No, House, forget it, I'm sorry, you can have your job ba–"

"–I don't want it," he said sullenly, looking at the ground. "Forget it. You win. I don't care."

"House," Wilson said softly, stepping between him and Cuddy and looking him in the eye. His hand closed firmly around House's wrist. "Come on, let's go." He guided him out of the room without looking at anyone and let the door close behind him.

Wilson and House's lawyer cleared his throat. "I think we may have to reschedule this," he said. He turned to Stacy. "After I speak with my clients, I'll call you–"

"–That won't be necessary," Cuddy cut him off.

"I'm sure Dr. House didn't mean...the meeting hadn't started, we weren't on record yet–"

"–If they want to schedule another meeting, you can speak with me directly," Cuddy said, looking him in the eye. "But for now, you can go..." she broke eye contact and sank into a chair, sighing and putting her face in her hands.

Stacy looked up at the other lawyer until he left, and then got up and sat down next to Cuddy.

"Lisa, what?–"

"–I messed up," Cuddy said, her voice breaking. "I lied. I didn't hire you because you know House and you'd help me win the lawsuit. I hired you because I knew how much seeing you again would hurt him, and I wanted to hurt him. Or I thought–" Cuddy sniffed, and wiped a couple of tears from her cheeks. "Stacy, I wanted him to give in, I wanted to break him, but I didn't want...Stacy, you saw him. He looked so...broken. I did that. I hurt him. I wanted to hurt him and I did, but what...what for? Why? So he would love me instead of Wilson?" She gave a humourless laugh. "I called you here because I knew he loved you...and he'll never love me as much as he loved you. And he'll never love me the way he loves Wilson." She sniffed again. "I screwed up, Stacy. And now I've lost not only two of my best doctors, my boyfriend, my reputation...I've also lost two of my best friends." Cuddy accepted a Kleenex from Stacy and wiped her eyes. She looked at her lawyer. "So what do I do?"

Stacy bit her lip and shrugged. "You apologise."

Cuddy chuckled again. "You really think they'll forgive me?"

"No," Stacy said. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't do it."


	13. Ailments and Apologies

**A/N: **I looked back and realised I accidentally stole part of this from an episode of the actual show. So sorry that a portion of this premise has been done before (albeit in quite a different way), I didn't borrow the idea consciously. Also Hikari of the Moon wanted me to give House a hug.

7.12—"Ailments and Apologies"

House was sitting on the couch in the condo. Wilson was on top of him, kissing him. House's fingers combed through Wilson's hair, and Wilson pulled back.

"Feel better?" he panted.

"Not yet," House responded, also breathing heavily. "You're gonna have to try again."

Wilson leaned forward obediently, and their lips were millimetres apart when they heard a knock on the door. Wilson groaned and deflated.

"Ignore it," House suggested, leaning forward.

"No, no," Wilson said, sighing and getting up. "I'll go deal with it, and then we'll...resume this."

"Spoilsport," House called after him.

Wilson opened the front door. Cuddy was standing there. He closed it again.

"Wilson, wait," she said, pushing back on the door to keep it open. "I'm here to apologise. Please, hear me out."

"Yeah, because that worked so well last time," Wilson said sarcastically.

"I mean it, Wilson, please, just give me five minutes, and then I promise I'll go."

Wilson sighed and opened the door.

"Oh, come on," House complained, getting up from the couch. "You're gonna interrupt sex for her?"

"We weren't...having sex," Wilson said, lowering his voice as if he didn't want Cuddy to hear about such indecent things. As if she hadn't witnessed them firsthand when she was spying on them.

"Yet," House grumbled.

"If I was...interrupting something..." Cuddy said, looking back and forth from Wilson to House, "...I could always come back later..."

"You could come back in the year 2056," House suggested.

"House," Wilson said in a warning tone. Then he turned to Cuddy. "Lisa, just say what you have to say. We're listening."

"I'm sorry," Cuddy said, looking from House to Wilson and trying to catch their eyes. House was looking at the floor. "I really...I have no excuse for the things I did, I don't know why I was so desperate to break you up, but I was wrong and I'm sorry. Wilson, I shouldn't have hired Monica to try and get you to cheat with her. House, I shouldn't have fired you because Wilson resigned. I shouldn't have mocked you. I shouldn't have hired Stacy to try and hurt you. It was childish, and it was a mistake. All of it."

"Your _lawyer_ advise you to say that?" House snapped, glaring at her. "We dropped the lawsuit, remember? I don't care anymore."

"I'm not apologising to help my case," Cuddy said, looking at him. "Stacy left after I told her the real reason I hired her. And I'm offering you your job back."

"I don't want it–" House started, but Wilson put out his arm and shook his head and he shut up.

"I hope you reconsider," Cuddy said, still looking at House. "It's going to be my final act as Dean of Medicine. I'm going to resign this afternoon."

"What?" Wilson said, staring at her. "You're resigning? Lisa, why?–"

"It's obvious I've been having problems with my judgement lately," Cuddy admitted, her gaze flickering to the floor before returning to Wilson. "I've been making big decisions affecting other people's lives—not just yours, but Monica's and Foreman's as well—based on whims. Based on my own agenda, what I want, not what's best for the hospital. I can't trust myself. I need to get away for awhile. I'm taking Rachel and–"

Cuddy's words were cut off. Her eyes rolled back into her head and she fell to the floor, collapsing in a heap.

[the startup music plays...]

A machine gave off beeping noises at regular intervals. Right. But why was she at the hospital? She was going to apologise to House and Wilson...tell them she was resigning...and then resign...she would call the board to do that...they'd meet in a conference room, not a patient room...so why was there a heart monitor?

Cuddy opened her eyes. She was in a hospital bed, and the monitor was attached to her. She sat up and looked around. Wilson was there, he was sitting in a chair near her bed.

"James?" she said groggily, putting her hand to her head. It hurt. "What happened?"

"You passed out," Wilson said, sighing. "House and I couldn't revive you, so we called an ambulance. They're running tests now."

"Am I okay?" she asked, reaching for her chart.

"You're stable. They're keeping you hydrated and under observation until the tests come back. Since they couldn't wake you up for a history, you're getting the VIP treatment, testing for whatever they can. I should call the nurse, tell her you're up so they can get a history."

He got up to do that, but Cuddy called him back. "Wilson."

At the door he turned around. "What?"

Cuddy cleared her throat. "Where's House?"

"At home," Wilson answered, looking her over. "You've been out for about four hours. He didn't want to stay."

[]

Wilson himself didn't stay long after she woke up, and he didn't say whether he'd be back tomorrow. Cuddy felt better, she wanted to leave, but since they didn't know what was wrong with her yet, they were keeping her overnight for observation.

Cuddy imagined she had an unusual but curable disease with a rare presentation that no one in the hospital could figure out, so then they called House back in...but that wouldn't happen. He didn't work here anymore. He didn't want to work here anymore. Not for her. Cuddy realised she'd never finished their conversation in the condo. Would House want his job back now that Cuddy was resigning? She supposed it didn't matter anymore, at least not to her. He hated her, he never wanted to see her again. And she couldn't quite blame him. But she'd done everything she could—apologised, offered him his job back, and taken responsibility for her actions. The ball was in his court now.

She was flipping channels on the TV when Foreman came in.

"Hey," she said, sitting up in bed and smiling at him. "What are you doing here so late?"

"Working on your case," Foreman answered.

"I'm a case now?"

"Not anymore," Foreman said, shrugging. "We solved you. STD panel got a hit. It's neurosyphilis. Chase is getting your meds now."

"Syphilis?" Cuddy repeated, looking at him. "I've got syphilis? For god's sake, I'm a doctor. How could I have syphilis and not know about it?"

"Sometimes it doesn't present with obvious symptoms," Foreman said, shrugging. "You'll need injections for the next two weeks, and follow-ups, but you should be fine."

"I don't believe it," Cuddy said, shaking her head.

"Also, you'll want to contact any sexual partners you've had in the last...well, since it's progressed to neurosyphilis, you might have been infected for years without realising it. I'd play it safe and call as many people as you can."

Cuddy sighed. "Great. That's the call you want to get from an ex."

"Right," Foreman said. "Well, I'm gonna go. Chase should be in soon with your meds."

[]

Wilson hung up the phone. "That was Cuddy," he informed House.

"Fascinating."

"She wants to see you."

"That makes one of us."

"She's got neurosyphilis."

"I've got a bum leg."

"House, she wants to see you."

House looked at Wilson for a moment. "Wait, I'm confused. Didn't we just have this conversation? Oh yeah, Cuddy wants to see me, I don't want to see her, and since only one of us has control over my actions–"

"–I think you should see her," Wilson said.

House looked Wilson up and down. "You traitor," he said. "You forgave her, didn't you? Damn bleeding heart. She comes crying and apologising, says she'll resign, and then she gets sick on top of it. You just couldn't resist, could you? You actually think she means it this time."

"I do," Wilson said, sitting down next to House. "Greg, when you...when we walked into that room, and Stacy was there...well, it's been a long time since I've soon a look on your face that hurt–"

"–Maybe if you'd been paying attention to me when you were doing Sam–" House muttered under his breath.

"–But what you didn't see was the look on Cuddy's face. She was sorry, House, I could tell. She meant it. She feels really bad about what she did."

"She should. Just because she feels guilty doesn't mean she deserves forgiveness."

"And House, she's got neurosyphilis."

"So what? She's not terminal, is she? I know she's not; if she were you would have said so." Then he took a double-take, and his face got serious. "She's not terminal, is she?"

Wilson cracked a smile. "You see? You still care about her."

"No, I don't. And I assume from your grin she's not gonna die, so there really is no reason for me to see her."

"Except that she's got_ neurosyphilis_," Wilson said, looking House in the eye.

House said nothing.

"Which means..." Wilson continued, nodding and gesturing with his hands.

"She's a...whore?"

Wilson scoffed and slumped back onto the couch.

"What, Wilson?"

"It means that all the crap she's put us through lately may not be her fault. You know as well as I do that neurosyphilis can cause changes in personality. All right, so she was never perfect, but she's never treated us as badly as she has in the last couple of months. Her poor judgement could have been caused by her disease, not by–"

"–her just being a bitch," House completed.

Wilson nodded. "Exactly."

House looked at him with a grim smile. "You really want to believe that, don't you?"

"Of course I do! Don't you?"

House shrugged. "We don't know...for sure. Personality change can accompany neurosyphilis, but that doesn't mean it does. Or maybe the change in personality occurred yesterday when she suddenly decided to apologise for her–"

"–House," Wilson cut him off.

"What?"

They looked at each other for a moment before Wilson leaned over and wrapped his arms around his lover. "I want you to do this," he said softly. "Just talk to her. You don't have to forgive her, you don't have to take your job back, you don't even have to believe the disease is to blame for her recent actions. I just want you to go in there and talk to her. For fifteen minutes. Please. For me."

House sighed and Wilson grinned, giving him a quick peck.

"It won't be so bad," he promised. "Just fifteen minutes."

"Fifteen minutes of hell," House grumbled.

"I'll give you fifteen minutes of sex to make up for it," Wilson promised as he pulled back, finally getting House to smile.

[]

Cuddy woke up and House was suddenly sitting at her bedside. Her first instinct was to gasp and say he scared her, but she forced her face into a smile and said, "Hey."

"Were you really going to resign or was that just a clever ploy to get Wilson and I to forgive you?"

Of course. Why should she even expect him to care how she's doing? "I meant it," Cuddy said. "There's a letter of resignation on my desk. You can check for it. Which I'm guessing you already did."

"It could have been a fake letter," House pointed out.

"Except for the fact that if you still didn't want your job back I was going to come straight here and hand it in. There wouldn't have been time for you to check up on me."

"If I had agreed to take my job back, I would have had to come here at some point, and I would have had plenty of time to find it. Or I could have sent one of my lackeys."

"Like you did with the email?"

House didn't respond.

Cuddy sighed and leaned back on her pillows. "I know I shouldn't have said that. I've been making bad choices. I thought it was the stress getting to me, and that if I took a break from this for awhile, took a vacation, maybe taken a job with fewer responsibilities when I got back, then I'd be okay."

"Wilson thinks it's the syph," House said. "The...poor judgement, the personality change."

"But you don't think so," Cuddy responded, looking at him.

House shrugged. "I don't know if it was a personality change so much as a personality amplification."

"Thank you," Cuddy said sarcastically. "That makes me feel so much better."

"Wilson's thrilled about it, actually. Forget the part where you got sick and you could have died, now you've got a perfect excuse for being a super bitch and he doesn't have to think twice about forgiving you. The resigning thing itself was just about enough, but add in the neurosyphilis factor and you've got him sold."

"Him, but not you," Cuddy repeated. "As determined as he is that my disease be the cause all my problems, you're positive it was me all along."

"I'm not positive of anything," House contradicted. "There isn't a blood test for personality change. Either you're a person whose disease forced you to make stupid choices or you're a person who made stupid choices who happens to have a disease. There's no way for us to know."

"So you're assuming..."

"I'm not assuming anything. I don't know. I can't know."

"Tell me something," Cuddy said, looking at him. "If you believed it was the disease, really believed it, would you forgive me?"

House didn't look at her. "I don't know," he said finally.

"If you thought it was the disease, would you take your job back?" she tried again.

House shrugged. "If it was the disease, I'd have to take my job back because firing me would have been the disease, not you."

"Will you...come back?" Cuddy asked.

This time he did look at her. He looked at her for a long time. Then he looked at the floor again, inclining his head as he did so. "It doesn't mean I forgive you."

Cuddy breathed a sigh of relief. "You can give it time."

"I don't know if I can ever forgive you. I don't know if it was the disease or just you, but whatever it was..."

"It was unforgivable?" Cuddy supplied.

House shrugged. "Wilson forgave you. But he forgives everyone for everything. I killed his girlfriend but he still lets me touch his naughty parts."

Cuddy gave a weak smile. "You don't need to forgive me, House. It doesn't matter. I have no way of knowing if it's the disease or not. I'm still going to resign."

"No," House said, surprising her.

"What?" Cuddy said. "Why not?"

"You can reinstate me before you quit, but the board will just fire me again. You're the only one who puts up with my crap because you know that's how I cure patients."

"Maybe Wilson could–" Cuddy suggested, but House cut her off.

"–No," he said again. "Wilson would let me do whatever I want. And when he wouldn't, we'd fight. You know when a procedure is necessary to cure the patient and when it's too dangerous. You know when I want to do something cool because I need to and when I just want to do it because I want to. You get me to do most of my clinic hours and you get me to take cases even when I'd rather just sit and watch TV. But when I don't have a case, you let me watch TV because you know that when I'm saving someone's life, that comes first. You..." he sighed and looked at the ground. "I'm still upset with you. I might not ever forgive you. I don't love you. But you...you get me. You get how I work, you know what makes me tick. I need you...to be my boss. Not a lover, not even a friend, but my boss. That's how we operate. You're my boss, and I'm your employee. It's when we try to screw with that relationship that bad things happen. Boss, employee. It's homeostasis. It's what we need to go back to.

"Don't quit, Cuddy. Maybe take a couple weeks off, get your syph treatment, but come back. I'm not the only one who needs you." He got up and started to walk away.

"House," Cuddy said, and he turned toward her. She smiled. "Thank you."

He nodded once and turned around again.

"House," she repeated.

"What?"

"Could you do something for me?"

He stared at her.

She smiled. "Send Foreman in here. I need to talk to him...tell him..."

"I'll do it," House said, and he walked away.

[]

The office door still said 'Gregory House, M.D.' and House wondered if Cuddy had even considered ordering it changed. Foreman looked up when he walked in. "Your stuff's next door in the conference room. Chase plays with the ball sometimes, but only when he's thinking."

"You're taking this well," House observed.

Foreman shrugged.

"Why'd you take the job in the first place if you knew it'd only be temporary?"

"I didn't know. Not until she told me she let you go. When she first suggested it, it sounded more like you were resigning. And there'd been rumours about Wilson, so I figured...I told myself maybe you were just moving or something."

"And you thought that if leaving was my idea there was no way I'd come back? Like all the other times I've left my job and haven't come back?"

"I knew you wouldn't come back unless Wilson came back. I don't know what I thought. I wanted to think that both of you really were leaving, but once Cuddy told me she and the board fired you, I knew it was only a matter of time before she changed her mind." Foreman took a moment to study House. "She loves you. I don't know why, and I guess you don't love her back, but she loves you. She can't get rid of you, she wants you around. She thinks you're the smartest doctor who's ever lived and she just loves putting up with all your crap even when she pretends it drives her nuts. I may be like you in some ways, but I'm not you. You're the one she wants. If she can have you, she will."

"And you're okay with that?" House asked, watching him.

Foreman sighed. "I've accepted it."

House shrugged. "Cool. Well round up the others, I want this place back to normal by the time I get back."

"Where are you going?"

"Finding Wilson. He's gotta come back too, unless you want to start buying me lunch every day."

"I'll pass."

[]

Wilson inspected his _Vertigo_ poster and smiled.

"I still think you should have kept the ones from _Feral Pleasures_," House decided, stepping in through the balcony door.

"You watch any porno you want and pretend it's me, House, that doesn't make it actually me."

"You forgot to mention everything the wood nymphs taught you about pleasing a man."

"They didn't," Wilson said. "It's a natural talent. No instruction required."

"Care to demonstrate?" House suggested, nodding at Wilson's desk.

"How many times do you want to get fired, House?"

"I don't, I want to prove that we can get away with it."

"We did. We're back. We don't need to do it again."

"You're no fun."

"You have my sincerest apologies."

House didn't say anything else. He sat down on Wilson's couch, rubbing his leg.

Wilson sat next to him. "How is it?"

"The same as it always is, three, maybe four."

"It hasn't been worse than usual?"

"Not today."

Wilson sighed. "Do you think you're gonna forgive her?"

"I don't know if I can."

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know. If it was just the syphilis, maybe, but..."

"You don't know," Wilson finished for him.

"We have no way of knowing."

"I know," Wilson said.

"But you forgave her."

"I...believed she was really and truly sorry. I'm giving her a chance. I'm trusting people. You should try it sometime."

"I'm trusting you."

That made Wilson smile. "Does it upset you that I forgave her?" he asked.

"Would it make a difference if it did?"

"Either way, I'd like to know."

House paused. "I guess not," he said eventually. "It's your nature to care, to forgive. It's who you are. And I can't complain about it because if you weren't that way you would have stopped being my friend a long time ago."

Wilson smiled again. He leaned against House on the couch, resting his head on his shoulder.


	14. The Backup Plan

7.13—"The Backup Plan"

Wilson poured two glasses of champagne and handed one to House, joining him on the couch.

House eyed it with distaste. "What's this for?"

"We are celebrating," Wilson announced.

"I don't do anniversaries," House disclaimed.

"What anniversary?" Wilson asked. "We've only been together about four and a half months."

"I wouldn't put it past you to celebrate a four and a half month anniversary," House pointed out with a smirk.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "Anyway, that's not what we're celebrating. I found an unopened letter forwarded from your apartment. Your lease is up at the end of this week. That makes us officially moved in together. And that..." he chinked glasses with House, "...is what we're celebrating."

"Oh," House said simply, not drinking his champagne.

Wilson put on his concerned face. "Is something wrong?"

"No," House answered, taking a sip to please Wilson. "No, it's a good thing. Means you'll have to think twice the next time you wanna try and kick me out."

"I'm not _going_ to kick you out, House," Wilson said, scooting closer to him on the couch. "That's the point."

"Okay," House agreed simply. "Right." He shifted one hand into his pocket and took another gulp of champagne with the other.

[]

House wasn't in his office. Wilson walked through to check the balcony, but he wasn't there either. Wilson decided the clinic would be his next stop, and he was about to exit the office when a paper on the desk caught his eye. It was a partially filled out form with the words 'RENTAL AGREEMENT' written at the top. Intrigued, Wilson stepped closer to the desk. He looked over the form, a sinking feelings settling in the pit of his stomach. House was renewing the lease at his old apartment.

"House, wh..." Wilson sat down in House's chair, confused. True, he hadn't been overly enthusiastic the other night, but Wilson had figured that was just because House wasn't much of a romantic and they'd been living together in the condo for over a year, not counting the week Wilson kicked House out. The apartment was more a symbol of House's past than anything else. Now that they were together, it hadn't even occurred to Wilson that House might want to keep the place. _And why does he?_ Wilson asked himself, starting to grow a little angry at the idea in addition to confused. He'd thought House was completely devoted to him; it certainly seemed that way. House loved Wilson more than...anything. The only reason he would need to keep his old apartment was because he'd need a place to go if he...ever left Wilson. But that didn't make sense. House would never leave Wilson, he couldn't. No, they hadn't gotten married and they most likely never would, but the relationship was committed nonetheless. Wilson ran his fingers through his hair. At least, he'd thought the relationship had been committed.

[]

House was in the clinic. He just wasn't with any patients. He was playing his PSP on the exam table.

"Hey, Wilson," he said cheerfully, looking up when the oncologist came in.

"Hey," Wilson greeted back, trying to stay amiable. "We need to talk."

"Great," House said sarcastically, putting his PSP away, and Wilson felt a twinge of annoyance.

Wilson held up the lease renewal. "What is this?"

House looked at the floor. "Oh. You found that, huh? Just so you know, I didn't leave it in plain sight, it was under some files. Foreman or someone must have moved them. You weren't supposed to find out."

"Great," Wilson said, his tone echoing House's. "That makes me feel so much better. Now we can add 'deception' to the list of things wrong with our relationship, in addition to 'lack of commitment.'"

"I didn't want you to find out because I wanted to protect you," House said, slightly raising his voice to match Wilson's. "I knew you'd get like this if you found out. Assume it means something ridiculous like me not being committed to you."

"Well why don't you tell me what it does mean, then?" Wilson suggested, putting his hands on his hips. "Other than your uncertainty over staying in the condo with me."

House still wouldn't look at him. "It's nothing," he said. "I'm not going anywhere. It's just...a backup plan. Just in case..."

"In case what?" Wilson demanded.

"In case we screw it up!" House yelled, glaring at him. "If I do something stupid or if you get temperamental and kick me out again. If you cheat on me and I can't forgive you and can't stay. Or if you find someone else..."

"House!" Wilson shouted, shocked.

"Oh, don't give me that look," House said, rolling his eyes. "Not like it hasn't happened a million times before. Someone else more interesting comes along. The only difference is we weren't sleeping together–"

"–Exactly!" Wilson interrupted. "We weren't sleeping together. We weren't _together_. I had every right to be in relationships with women. Now I won't anymore–"

"–Because you're tied to me."

"House, don't you get it? I _want_ to be tied to you!" He approached House slowly, watching him. "That's why I want you to give up the apartment," he said gently. "When the lease on Amber's place went up, I didn't even think about renewing it because I was set on living in the condo. With _you_. And we weren't even together yet–"

"–You were set on living in the condo with Sam–"

"–It was _before_ Sam," Wilson said, irritated. "Just us, Greg. And you not giving up your place...that tells me you're having second thoughts." He hesitated. "Are you?" he asked, looking into House's eyes. "Greg, if something's wrong, I need you to tell me–"

"–I don't know where this is going," House said, looking solemnly at Wilson. "I know where I want it to go, and I know where you want it to go, but I don't know if it will end up there. And if it doesn't, I need a place where I can go. If this ends, I lose my boyfriend and my best friend. I'll need something familiar. I know the apartment. I know how to get there when I'm drunk, I know where all my stuff is. It's a comfort. I'll need that...if this ends."

Wilson backed away, looking wide-eyed at House. "You think this is going to end."

"I never said that," House said, starting to grow irritated again. "I think this might end. Neither of us has the best track record–"

"_Stacy _left_ you_," Wilson reminded him. "It wasn't your fault. Your track record's fine. It's me you don't trust."

"There are plenty of ways I could screw it up," House said, not looking at him.

"But there's one way you're pretty sure I'm gonna screw it up," Wilson concluded.

"Wilson, don't," House warned. "You said yourself you weren't sure–"

"–I'm trying as hard as I can!" Wilson insisted. "I'm doing well, House, even with Monica, I was barely even tempted. You remember how guilty I felt just for having a dream about her. House, I know you think people don't change, but look at you. Look how much you've changed over the last year and a half. I'm trying to change, too." He stepped closer to House and took a deep breath. "You've got to give me some credit here."

"I'm not not giving you credit, Wilson," House said. "I don't want to have to use the apartment. But I want it there if I need it. I'm allowed to have a Plan B."

Wilson looked him over and shook his head. "I'm your best friend. I'm your...boyfriend. You should trust me enough not to need a Plan B." He left the rental agreement on the exam table and exited the room.

[]

House entered his therapist's office without bothering to look at him and seated himself in the chair, brooding.

Dr. Nolan looked at him. "What happened?"

"Nothing."

Nolan scoffed. "Last time you were here your mood wasn't nearly as foul, which is saying something, considering all you had to go through with Cuddy."

"Last time I was in a good mood because I got laid before I came here," House explained. "Care to know more?"

"You and Wilson haven't been having sex?"

House rolled his eyes. "Yeah, like you're interested in Wilson's and my sex life."

Nolan chuckled. "I'm your therapist; of course I'm interested in your sex life. But from a professional standpoint, not a personal one. So have you not been having sex lately?"

"Define 'lately.'"

"When's the last time you've had sex?"

House frowned. "Interesting definition."

"House."

"All right, day before yesterday."

"That's not that long ago," Nolan pointed out. "How often are you normally intimate?"

"Do I really have to answer that?" House asked, staring at him.

"Only if you think it's relevant," Nolan said, shrugging. "You came in here complaining about less sex, but you say you just had it the other day. Do you usually have it every day?"

House was looking away again. He shrugged. "More or less. Unless one of us is...tired."

"How many times a week, would you say?"

"Eight."

Nolan chuckled again. "So basically every day, sometimes more than once?"

"Unless they changed the number of days in the week without informing me."

"But skipping a day isn't that unusual an occurrence."

House shrugged.

"Were either of you...tired, yesterday?"

House shrugged again. "Wilson said he was."

"But you didn't believe him."

"We had a fight," House explained.

"Ah," Nolan said, leaning back in his chair. "So something did happen."

"Yeah, but I know your question was asked in response to my negative attitude, and my negative attitude was a result of no sex, not the fight."

"But the no sex was a result of the fight," Nolan pointed out.

"Or Wilson could have been telling the truth when he said he was tired."

"Why don't you tell me what the fight was about?" Nolan suggested, putting his right ankle up on his left knee.

House's eyes focused on the bookshelves on the opposite wall. "The lease on my old apartment is up. I'm renewing it. Wilson's acting all betrayed about it. He assumed I wouldn't renew the lease."

"And why do you think he would assume that?"

"We're living together. I haven't even been there in months. My mail gets forwarded, most of my stuff's at the condo. There's no reason for me to keep the place."

"Obviously there is," Nolan disagreed. "You wouldn't renew your lease without a reason."

"It's just in case something happens," House said, still not looking at Nolan and shrugging. "Just because Wilson and I want to still be together in a year doesn't mean we will be. I wanna know the place is there if I need it."

"That's a perfectly reasonable and understandable argument," Nolan said.

"Wilson thinks I don't trust him," House said, rubbing his leg. "He thinks I'm assuming he's gonna cheat."

"Is he right?" Nolan asked.

"I don't know what's gonna happen," House said. "How can I assume anything?"

"So then you're not assuming he's going to remain faithful to you, either."

House shrugged.

"Do you trust him?" Nolan asked.

"I want to trust him," House said to the wall. "I'm not keeping the apartment because I don't trust him. I'm keeping the apartment because if this does blow up—either because of him or because of me—I want somewhere to go."

"Did you explain this to Wilson?"

House nodded. "He still thought it was about me not trusting him. I'm trying to trust him. I trusted him with Monica. I'm working on it. But he doesn't get that."

"Did you try and explain that part to him?" Nolan asked.

"I didn't get to. He took off. When he got home it was late, he said he was tired and just went to bed."

"Maybe you should try talking about this with him again," Nolan suggested. "Tell him that you're working towards trusting him and, if need be, explain to him again your reasons for renewing the apartment."

"And what if he still doesn't get it?" House asked, looking at his therapist. "What if he's right? Should I just forget about renewing it?"

"No," Nolan said, surprising him. "James has to respect your boundaries. It's part of a healthy relationship. Your apartment is something you need to feel comfortable. If he has a problem with that, it's his problem, not yours. In relationships, it's important to pick your battles. This one is clearly important to you, so I say it's worth fighting. You can compromise your wants for the person you're with. You can't compromise your needs. And it's clear this is something you need."

[]

"Can I join you?" Wilson asked Chase.

Chase shrugged at the table in front of him. "Go for it."

"Thanks," Wilson said, sitting down. "So, how're things with Remy?"

"Fine. I met her dad a few weeks ago. I think he liked me."

"That's good," Wilson said, smiling. "So...have you two talked about moving in together?"

"Nah," Chase said. "She's got a drawer at my place, I've got closet space at hers, but we're fine with that for now."

"About how long have you guys been dating again?"

"Around four months," Chase said. "Not long after you and House got together. Yeah, maybe in another month or two we'll talk about taking it to the next level."

"Makes sense," Wilson agreed. "You think probably your place or hers?"

Chase shrugged. "Haven't put that much thought into it. Hers, I guess. I'm still at me and Cameron's old place. When we spend the night together we usually stay at Remy's."

"And if that were to happen," Wilson continued conversationally, "would you keep Cameron's and your old place?"

"No," Chase scoffed. "I'd sell it. No reason to keep it."

"But what if you and Thirteen break up?"

"Then I...stay at a hotel or with friends until I can get a new place. Come on, Wilson, you've been through this. Finding a place isn't that hard. There's no point in paying two mortgages if you're only using one. If we break up, we break up. But we don't plan for it."

"That's what I thought," Wilson said, looking at the table.

Chase studied him. "I get the feeling this isn't about me and Thirteen."

"House's lease is up," Wilson explained. "It's been about a year we've been in the condo, over four months we've been dating, but he still wants to renew his lease. I can't figure out why."

"Have you tried asking him?" Chase suggested.

"Of course I asked him, he said it's just in case. But we're together. We plan on staying together. Just in case...it's what hotels are for. But he shouldn't need to keep his old apartment for god knows how long because we _might_ break up someday, right?"

Chase half-shrugged.

[]

"Of course it's okay that he wants to keep his old apartment," Thirteen said. "It's not that he doesn't trust you, he obviously trusted you around Monica, and come on, that girl was a ten. It's personal, it's for him. If Chase moves in with me I don't expect him to sell his old place right away. It's rushing into relationships that screws them up. Yeah, you've been living together for a year and you've been friends for most of my lifetime, but the relationship thing is still new for you. Neither of you knows where it's going to go. You've made mistakes in the past and you're both adapting to big changes in your lives. House even more so than you. Come on, his whole world is changing. Can you seriously blame him for wanting one thing in it that stays the same?"

Wilson rubbed the back of his neck and shrugged.

Thirteen smiled at him. "It doesn't mean he doesn't love you, Wilson, and it certainly doesn't mean he doesn't want to spend the rest of his life with you. I'm sure that's all he's ever wanted for a long time, at least as long as I've known him. Give him this. I can almost guarantee your relationship will last longer if you do."

[]

House sat on his side of the bed, reading glasses perched on his nose. He was reading _The American Journal of Surgical Pathology_ and didn't appear to notice Wilson entering the room.

"Hey," Wilson said, smiling at House even though the diagnostician wasn't looking at him. He joined him on the bed. "What're you reading?"

"Case study on kidney lesions."

"Is it interesting?"

"Not nearly as interesting as I'm sure whatever you have to say will be." He sighed and put the journal down on the nightstand, folding his glasses on top of it. "What do you want, Wilson?"

"To say I'm sorry?" Wilson tried, a weak smile. "I shouldn't have tried to push you? I want this to work between us, and if you feel more comfortable keeping your apartment, that's fine."

House studied him. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course. I...it was narcissistic of me to think that you want to keep the place just because of me, and selfish to get as upset as I did over the trust thing. I know that it's not easy for you, and I know that you're trying."

"Did Nolan call you?" House asked suspiciously.

"No," Wilson said, no trace of deception on his face. "Why, did you talk about this with him?"

House nodded.

"What did he say?"

"That you should respect my boundaries."

Wilson nodded. "I want to, Greg, I'm going to. You can give up your apartment if and when you're ready, not before, and I won't complain about it again, I promise."

"You get that it doesn't mean I'm not committed," House clarified, carefully gauging Wilson's reactions.

Wilson smiled. "I understand."

"And it doesn't mean I think you're gonna cheat on me."

"I know."

"And it doesn't mean you have permission to kick me out the next time we get into an argument," House continued, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Wilson chuckled. "I won't, I promise." He leaned forward and gently kissed House on the lips while his hand held the side of his face. "I think I've been good about that lately," he murmured against House's face.

"Yeah," House agreed. "Just cause you know it'll be that much harder to seduce me if I'm in a different building."

"You know my weaknesses," Wilson admitted, keeping his face against House's.

"And exploit them," House smirked. "For my own benefit."

"I believe in these instances your exploitation is mutually beneficial." Wilson kissed the side of his face.

"Completely unintended, I assure you," House insisted, leaning down on the bed so he was more lying than sitting. "I am the selfish one."

Wilson, resting over House, studied him for a moment. "No you're not," he said finally, leaning forward again.

[]

Wilson had had a rough day. Though he didn't do surgery that often, today he'd had to perform two surgeries in one day. The first one had seemed perfectly routine until the patient got a bleeder it took the doctors forever to find, making the process more than an hour longer than it should have been. The second had been an emergency surgery. Six hours of scouring the body, trying to fix it, and the patient had died on the table anyway. It was almost midnight and House wasn't home yet either because he was still working on a case, but Wilson was much too exhausted and discouraged to wait for him. All he wanted to do was take a scalding hot shower and crawl into bed. It would have been preferable if House were there to crawl into bed with him, but once he fell asleep he wouldn't notice his lover's absence anyway.

However, Wilson's plans were interrupted by his curiosity. On the way to the bedroom, Wilson noticed that the door to House's old room was open. Not only was that unusual, as they never used that room anymore, but Wilson was sure House had left before him this morning, and the door had certainly been closed when Wilson left. Perhaps House had needed to drop by during the day to get something? Wilson couldn't imagine what. Temporarily forgetting his desire to shower and sleep, Wilson pushed the door the rest of the way open to see if the room's contents would explain the conundrum.

It did. When they first moved in, the room had contained a bed and a dresser, with a few boxes of House's stuff in the closet. After they'd started sleeping together, Wilson had moved House's dresser into the master bedroom but the rest of the place stayed the same. Now, however, the room was filled with boxes—not just the ones House usually kept in his closet. Wilson smiled to himself as he looked around, suddenly feeling warm inside. House's guitars laid on the bed next to a box of old records. Other boxes of sundries, none of them labelled, of course, sat around the room in small piles.

On top of the pile nearest the door Wilson noticed a piece of paper, or rather, many small strips of paper. House had put his lease renewal form through the shredder and left the pieces here for Wilson to see. Examining the little strips in his hand, Wilson smiled. As much as he tried to deny it, House definitely had a romantic side.

Still exhausted, but feeling much more content and loved than he had when he'd entered the condo, Wilson turned back to go take his shower. In the dim light filtering in from the hallway, Wilson didn't notice the shoebox in his path until he tripped over it. He threw his hands out automatically to catch himself, but they made contact with a rather precariously stacked pile of boxes, knocking them and their contents of Nikes to the floor along with Wilson.

Wilson's muttered curse wasn't audible over the sounds of dozens of shoes rapidly hitting the hardwood, but another sound was. A sound that didn't belong. A rattle.

Hurrying to his feet, Wilson flipped on the light switch near the doorway. House's boxes were illuminated, including the one on its side with the Nikes spilling out. Wilson warily stepped around the shoes and boxes and crouched down to the floor. He'd heard it. He knew he'd heard it. And though he refused to believe it until he saw it with his own eyes, he also knew what it was.

After checking inside, Wilson straightened the box and started putting the shoes back in it, checking each one.

It was in the fourth shoe he picked up that he heard the rattling sound again. Filled with dread, Wilson shook the shoe until a small orange bottle fell into his hand. He held it up to read the label, hoping it would tell him anything other than what he knew it would say.

House's name. His name as the prescribing physician. And there, right in the centre of the label, the big black letters reading VICODIN.


	15. Opiate Argument

7.14—"Opiate Argument"

Wilson took a deep breath and stepped into House's office. "We need to talk," he said, his voice a bit unsteady.

House looked up from his desk. "Didn't we just do that, like, a week ago?"

Wilson didn't say anything. He noticed he was trembling slightly as he reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out the bottle of Vicodin. The pills rattled a bit as he placed the bottle on House's desk.

House glared up at him. "Where did you find that?"

"In a box in your old bedroom."

"You went through my stuff?"

"I tripped and knocked a box over," Wilson snapped. "What's your excuse?"

"There's no need to be nasty about it," House muttered.

"House, will you explain this, please?" Wilson asked, trying very hard to be civil.

"It's Vicodin," House stated, looking directly at Wilson. "From back when. I haven't taken a single pill since the day you dropped me off at Mayfield, all right?"

"Then why do you have it?" Wilson demanded, visibly frustrated. "Why tempt yourself? I thought you got rid of it, all of it!"

"So I missed a bottle. Big deal. I haven't taken it. You can test my blood if you want. I'll get you a needle." House stood up defiantly.

"House, don't," Wilson said. "I believe you."

"Then quit treating me like a child who's misbehaved."

"I'm just trying to understand," Wilson continued, hands anchored to his hips, "why you would find an old bottle of Vicodin and make the conscious decision to pack it instead of chucking it."

His words hung in the air. House stared at the orange bottle, not responding.

"House?" Wilson prompted.

"I don't want to have this conversation," House answered without looking at him.

"An intelligent guy once told me you can't always get what you want."

House didn't answer. The completely blank look in his eyes frightened Wilson.

"Greg, come on, talk to me," Wilson implored, sitting down in front of House's desk in a vain attempt to be closer to him and make eye contact. "Let me in. Help me understand what you were thinking."

"You're mad at me."

Wilson sighed. "I'm frustrated."

"No," House contradicted. "You were mad."

"All right, fine, I was mad," Wilson admitted, starting to lose his temper again. "I was mad because I don't you to throw away everything you worked for. Because I _care_ about you."

"Then trust me."

"I did, until I found out you still keep Vicodin lying around," Wilson pointed out.

"Trust me not to take it."

"Then why keep it?" Wilson demanded.

House looked at him finally and answered slowly. "It's just...in case...I need it."

The words struck a chord with Wilson. He studied House. "That's why you wanted to keep the apartment, isn't it? It wasn't the apartment that was your backup plan, it was your secret opiate stash."

"Fine, Wilson, yes," House admitted, rolling his eyes and looking away, "sometimes I think if life gets hard enough I want to be able to go back to it, numb myself out so I won't have to feel my leg and everything else. I almost did it that night right before you kissed me, but I didn't. I got through it."

"Then why do you_ need_ them?" Wilson asked, a begging tone to his voice.

"I don't," House stated. "I just...like to know they're there."

Wilson shook his head. "It's not good enough, House."

"I'm an addict, Wilson," House said, glaring at him. "If I need it, I'm gonna get it. If it gets to be too much, wouldn't you rather me take a couple prescription Vicodin than try and score heroin off the street? We both know I could do it."

"House, if it gets to be too much, that's when you_ talk_ to someone. Come to me. Call Nolan. Go back to Mayfield if you need to. Greg, you've got a support system now. There should never be a point when you feel alone enough to have to turn to drugs."

"There 'should' never be," House repeated. "That doesn't mean there won't be." He put his hand into his jeans pocket and curled it into a fist. "In the mean time, I've got other ways of coping. I've got you, I've got Nolan. I've got booze, which I only needed while you were screwing Sam anyway. The Vicodin's a last resort."

"It shouldn't be."

"Well what do you prefer?" House glared. "Suicide?"

"House, no!"

"Then let me have this!"

"House, I can't!" Wilson shouted, standing up. "I can't do this. I can't stand knowing you're keeping Vicodin around, wondering how many times a day you think about taking it, worrying that you might slip and I might not even know about it."

"You'll know," House said solemnly.

"I didn't know last time."

"Things were different last time," House explained. "Last time I didn't have anyone. I'd fired Nolan for being an idiot, Cuddy had just gotten engaged to Lucas and told me she didn't love me, and you...you weren't there. You'd been with Sam instead of me and you didn't even notice what that was doing to me. You'd kicked me out."

"You could have called me," Wilson murmured, sitting down again.

"I thought about it," House said, looking down. "But I didn't know if you'd come or not. I couldn't handle the thought of calling and you dismissing me. So I came over instead, I was going to tell you, I was hoping you'd help me...but if you ignored me, then I was gonna go back and take it." He shrugged. "But then you kissed me, and then you fled the building, so I decided that issue took precedence over me hating my life."

"You don't hate it anymore, do you?" Wilson asked desperately.

House looked at him, and Wilson felt a sudden surge of affection for his lover. He reached across the desk and grabbed House's hand.

"No," House decided, letting his hand be held. "I don't hate my life. But I know I could go back to hating it. And if I do...if I've exhausted all other possibilities, the pills are there."

Wilson shook his head, not letting go. "I can't," he repeated. "I can't do it. House, for years...I saw what it did to you. You start with just a few pills, just for the pain, and then you build up a tolerance, you need to take more, and I want you to stop but I know you need it. And then you don't just take it for your leg pain, you take it to numb yourself out completely. You kept going until it was too much for your body to handle, and you–"

"–I know what it did," House interrupted, jerking his hand back. "I was there. I know what happened."

"I don't want it to happen again."

"You think I do?"

"Obviously you're willing to let it," Wilson pointed out.

"It won't get that far."

"If you believed that, you wouldn't have kept them."

House and Wilson watched each other for a minute. Wilson was the one to look away.

"Wilson," House said finally.

Wilson looked at him.

"Please."

Wilson was taken aback. House never said please. Not when he was seriously asking for something. When he was being sarcastic, maybe, but this...

"You keep saying you can't do this," House continued. "At least try. Let me keep the pills around, you'll see that I won't take them, just like I haven't taken them since Mayfield. Just...try."

Wilson looked at House and took a deep breath. "You're telling me that this...having this around the place...it's something you need?"

House looked at him and nodded.

Wilson ran his fingers through his hair. "You're not keeping it around because you plan on taking it, you just like knowing it's there," he clarified.

"Think of it as an epi-pen," House suggested.

The oncologist exhaled slowly. "All right," he said finally, without looking at House. "If you...need this...then I won't make you get rid of it, on several conditions."

House raised his eyebrows.

"First, I want to know where the bottle is at all times. Hide it somewhere where you won't see it and be tempted by it, but somewhere I can check it. Also, when your pain gets worse, I want you to _tell me_. If your baseline pain is a four and it goes up to a five, _tell me_. Even if you're not sure whether it's physical pain or not, and even if we're in an argument. If it's a bad day, just tell me."

The two looked at each other for a moment. "Is that all, Mom?" House asked. "Can I go play outside with the other kids now?"

Wilson nodded, and House got up, grabbing his cane.

"Wait," Wilson said.

House looked at him a moment.

"Can I see that real quick?" He nodded at the Vicodin bottle. House picked it up and handed it to him. Wilson opened the bottle and poured the pills into his hand.

"Are you counting them?" House asked, sounding annoyed.

"I just want to know how many there are," Wilson said. "Nineteen."

"And there will still be nineteen there tomorrow," House insisted. "If there's not, you can call Daddy and have them put me back in time-out, okay?"

"Okay," Wilson said, putting his hands up in defence. "I'll drop it. Here." He handed the bottle out to House, but House didn't take it.

"Hang on to 'em till we get home," House suggested. "The last thing I need is Cuddy going through my desk and finding them."

"All right," Wilson said. "So, I'll see you at home then."

"Right," House agreed.

Wilson turned around to go back to his office, but House called him just before he opened the door.

"Wilson."

He turned around and looked across the room at the diagnostician. "Yeah?"

House nodded. "Thanks."

[]

Wilson was making breakfast when House limped down the hall, holding his leg.

"How is it?" he asked, trying to keep his tone light even though he knew House could hear the worried undertones.

"Fine. Same as always. It'd be better if you'd cook me bacon."

"On Saturday," Wilson promised, setting down two bowls of some sort of whole grain cereal.

House dipped his spoon in and made a face. "Where's my Lucky Charms? At least with those I can pick the cereal parts out, but this..." he let the brown flakes fall back into the bowl with small plops.

"The cereal you buy is not intended for consumption by children over twelve. Just try it, House, it's not that bad."

"This cereal isn't intended for consumption by humans," House argued, sticking a bit into his mouth and making a face. "This isn't breakfast, it's torture. Maybe it'd go down easier with a couple Vicodin..."

"House!" Wilson exclaimed, aghast.

House rolled his eyes. "For the love of god, Wilson, I was kidding."

"Don't...kid about that!" Wilson still looked tachycardic.

House sighed. "Fine. You're right. I'm sorry. I promise to never utter the V-word again, all right? Just...relax. Sit down and eat your excuse for a breakfast."

Wilson obliged, but he didn't say anything.

"Are you giving me a ride to work today?" House asked after they'd finished eating and started getting ready.

"Why don't you go ahead?" Wilson suggested. "Last time you wanted to leave before I did you stalked my office and scared all my patients, and it's an experience I'd rather not repeat. I'll meet you for lunch, all right?"

House shrugged his indifference and grabbed his backpack and motorcycle helmet before heading out the door.

Wilson finished rinsing their breakfast dishes and placed them gently on the drying rack. He grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, but hesitated before he left. He gave a backwards glance toward the condo, shook his head, took another step forward, and then set the briefcase down and turned around. He went into the second bathroom, the one used by guests and previously used by House. He opened the medicine cabinet and took out the small bottle of Vicodin. Even though he knew House was gone, he looked over his shoulder before popping off the cap and shaking the pills into his hand. Nineteen. Wilson sighed his relief before dropping the pills back into the bottle with a clatter and replacing it in the medicine cabinet. Feeling better, he left for work.

[]

"Yes," Wilson said into the phone. "As soon as I receive the images, I'll have a look at them and then I'll call you back. Okay? Have a nice day." As he hung up the phone he screwed up his face at the yelling coming from the next room. Though he'd had the office next to the diagnostic room long enough to get used to the occasional outbursts, he still hated hearing them because they often indicated something was bothering House. He got up from his desk and exited his office, watching House's fellows leaving solemnly and House himself slowly making his way into his office.

Wilson met him in there. "Hey."

A searching look. Then, "Hey."

"Everything all right?" he asked, stepping further into the room. "I heard yelling..."

"They're just being idiots."

"Your team or the patient's family?"

"Both."

Wilson gave a grim smile. "How's your leg?"

"For the millionth time, it's fine, Wilson. It's always going to hurt, and you asking about it every hour on the hour isn't going to make it hurt less."

"All right," Wilson said, backing away and sounding a bit hurt himself. "I was just concerned. I noticed that you seemed upset and thought that maybe–"

"–Maybe I was lying to you when I called my team idiots. That can't possibly be why I was yelling at them, it has to be because my leg's hurting a little more than usual–"

"–Sorry I asked," Wilson snapped, turning around. "Sorry I care."

[]

House was sitting next to Wilson on the couch, watching TV. Things had been a little bit cooler than usual after their argument, but neither of them brought it up since then and by now it had been forgotten. Wilson decided, for the time being, to let House just tell him if his leg was worse than usual rather than continually asking about it. House could still tell though, the way Wilson looked at him whenever he grabbed the limb, whenever he rubbed it absentmindedly. He could see the question forming behind his eyes but was internally grateful when the younger man held his tongue. He didn't want sympathy from his lover. He wanted Wilson to see him as House, his best friend, not just a gimpy leg.

"I'm going to the bathroom," Wilson muttered, getting up off the couch.

"Have fun," House called to him, his attention not leaving the TV screen. A few minutes later he heard the flush and the running water that preceded Wilson's return. The oncologist sat back down on the couch without a word, watching the TV.

"Why'd you use that bathroom?" House asked after a moment.

"Hmm?"

"The bathroom," House repeated. "You didn't use the master bathroom, you used the second bathroom."

"What difference does it make?" Wilson asked, sounding slightly irritated.

"You always use the master bathroom," House pointed out. "Before we were doing it, the master one was yours and the second was for me and for guests, except for Sam who was important enou–"

"–Will you get to the point?"

House looked at him. "We don't use the second bathroom anymore. Unless one of us is already in the en-suite. I was out here. The only reason for you to use the second bathroom would be if you needed something the master bathroom didn't supply."

"The second bathroom is closer," Wilson said, avoiding his gaze. "I didn't want to miss too much of the game."

House shook his head. "Even when we're watching TV, you always use the master. Something's changed. Unless you've got your own stash hidden there that I don't know about, you used the second bathroom so that you could check on my pills. Count them, make sure I haven't been sneaking any."

"Fine," Wilson said, crossing his arms. "Yes, you're a genius, House, congratulations. You figured it out, are you happy?"

"No," House said. "How often have you been counting the pills?"

"I don't..."

"Every day? More than once a day?"

Wilson wasn't looking at him. He shrugged.

House scoffed. "You're never gonna trust me, are you?"

"I'm just scared," Wilson mumbled.

"Well get over it," House commanded, rubbing his leg. "I'm not taking the pills. I like_ knowing they're there_, Wilson. I don't need to be constantly reminded of it by you jumping up to check on them every five minutes."

"I usually do it when you're gone," Wilson snapped. "Or asleep. This is the first time you've caught me."

House glared at him for a moment and then got up.

"Where are you going?" Wilson asked.

"I'm amending your conditions," House responded. "When you know where I keep the pills, you drive yourself crazy wondering about them. I'm hiding them. You don't know where they are, you can't check them. Forget about them, Wilson. For once in your life, just trust me."

Wilson watched House go from the bathroom into his old bedroom, pills in hand, and swallowed. He watched the door until House emerged.

"Jeez, Wilson, relax," House said, watching him. "They were in my old apartment the whole time I was living here and the whole time I was living there, and I didn't take them once. It's not any different now. Nothing's changed."

"You almost took them," Wilson reminded him. "The same night Sam and I broke up, before you came here, you told me you almost took the pills. When you were living across town from them you didn't touch them, but once they were there, just a room away, you were more tempted..."

"It wasn't about the vicinity," House said. "I almost took them because everyone had abandoned me and my life was screwed up beyond my control. I'm okay now. I've got you, I've got Nolan. I'm okay. Just let me be okay, Wilson."

Wilson bit his lip and looked at the floor, then he looked up at House and nodded.

[]

House moaned in his sleep and rolled over. Then he opened his eyes. His arms had encountered a mattress where there should have been a Wilson. He sat up in bed. Wilson wasn't there. He looked toward the bathroom to see if the light was on, but then he heard a sound from the other room. House grabbed his cane and hobbled toward the hallway.

The light was on in the second bedroom. House used his cane to push the door open.

Wilson gasped and turned around at the creak.

"What the hell are you doing?" House demanded.

"I...I..." Wilson stuttered like a guilty child. He was surrounded by House's boxes, most of which had been overturned and emptied onto the floor. Rather than answer House's question, he looked down at the floor.

"Did you find them?" House asked.

Shoulders slumped, Wilson pointed at the bed. Next to the records and guitars laid the orange bottle of Vicodin. Having located it, Wilson must have been trying to put the boxes back in order to hide the evidence. House snatched up the bottle.

"House..." Wilson's voice pleaded as he stood up. "House, it was driving me crazy. Please just get rid of them. I can't do this anymore. I just can't. I couldn't sleep because all I could think about was wondering if you took any pills after our fight, and if you did I'd have no way to know. House, please. Come on, this is obviously tearing us apart. Please just throw them out. I just can't do this."

"You said I could. I need to have them here, Wilson, you said it was okay."

"I tried being okay with it House, we both know I tried, but it didn't work. I want them gone, House."

House sighed. "No. Maybe...eventually...I'll feel better enough to decide I won't ever need them. But I'm not there yet, Wilson. I'm not ready to give them up."

Wilson took a deep breath. "Even if it means losing me?"

House's head snapped up. "You're giving me an ultimatum?"

Wilson looked at the pills in House's hands and then at their owner. He nodded.

House didn't answer. He looked at the bottle.

"House..." Wilson said, giving a humourless chuckle. "House, don't do this."

"I'm thinking."

"No, dammit!" Wilson shouted. He glared at House. "You shouldn't have to think. The answer is 'You, James, you. Of course I pick you.' You...the fact that you have to think about it..."

"What about the fact that you gave me an ultimatum in the first place?" House snapped. "I just told you I'm not ready for this, you asked that question knowing you wouldn't get the immediate response you wanted. You asked for it, Wilson. This way when we break up you won't have to feel guilty about it because it would have been my fault."

"You think that's what I want?" Wilson asked. "You know what..." He snatched the pills from House's hand and put them into his pocket before sidestepping House and heading for the door.

"Wilson," House said in a warning voice, getting up and following him.

"I can outrun you, House," Wilson shouted over his shoulder as he hurried to the bathroom.

House tried to move quickly with his cane, but when he made it to the door he could already hear a flushing sound. He came to stand beside Wilson, who was in front of the toilet, and both of them watched the water swirl down, along with the small white pills.

"There," Wilson said, turning to face House. "No ultimatum. No choice. It's me. You have me."

House didn't look at him.

[]

House had refused to follow Wilson into their bedroom and hadn't spoken to him for the rest of the night or at all the next day. He came home from work late and seated himself in front of the TV, rubbing his leg.

"Are you coming to bed?" Wilson asked just before 1a.m., clad in pyjamas and squinting from the light of the TV.

"No."

"Not now, or not all night?"

"I can't sleep."

"You didn't even try," Wilson contradicted, joining him on the couch. "I would have remembered you come in."

"Tried sleeping out here," House said. "Old bed's got too much crap on it. Didn't wanna wake you."

"House," Wilson said apologetically, reaching for his hand. "Please come to bed."

House looked at Wilson, studied him. "You can't just expect things to be okay after what happened. It's not gonna go away just because you want it to. Those pills were mine, and you threw them out. I'm upset with you, Wilson."

"Greg, I did what I needed to do."

"What_ you_ needed. Not what I needed."

"Of course it was what you needed," Wilson said. "I prevented you from maybe making a huge mistake–"

"–that would have been mine to make," House pointed out, glaring at him. "I can take care of myself, Wilson. I don't want you to be my mother. I want you to be my boyfriend."

"And part of that is looking out for you," Wilson argued, a part of him relieved that House still wanted him in spite of their argument.

"Which'd be great if you actually had some inkling as to what I needed. I told you I needed the pills there, Wilson. You just ignored me."

"I tried!"

"You didn't try hard enough!"

"And I disagreed with you–"

"–It's my life–"

"–It's my life, too," Wilson insisted, looking House in the eye. He used both of his hands to hold House's hand. "We're together. What happens to you affects me."

"So you admit it was selfish."

"Yes, House, it was selfish," Wilson agreed angrily, letting go of his hand and turning away. "I'm selfish for wanting you here in my life with me rather than back in Mayfield or overdosing on Vicodin."

House watched him. "Okay," he said finally.

Wilson looked at him. "Okay?"

"Okay."

"Okay what?"

"Okay...I'll come to bed. In a minute. I'll be right there, okay?" He got up and gave Wilson a brief kiss to reassure him.

Wilson didn't kiss back. "Wait a minute," he said. "We were just arguing...you just said..."

"I just said okay," House repeated, glaring at him. "It's over."

"Why?" Wilson looked baffled. "Just a second ago you were royally pissed off at me."

"And now I've forgiven you. Let it go, Wilson."

Wilson stared at him, dumbfounded.

House ignored him and poured himself a glass of water from the kitchen sink. "Go to bed," House said. "I'm coming, I promise, all right?"

Looking confused and relieved, Wilson turned around and headed for the bedroom. House watched him go and waited for Wilson to almost close the door before moving. He put his water on the counter and opened a cabinet. In Wilson's desire to keep their kitchen fresh, each cupboard had its own personal box of baking soda hidden in the back. House reached for the top shelf and moved aside a couple boxes of foodstuffs they would likely never use, such as cornstarch and cocoa powder. He found the baking soda, the box never intended to be opened or used for cooking. However, unbeknownst to Wilson, the box had been opened.

House pulled the flaps apart to reveal a mostly empty box with some gritty remains of baking soda on the bottom, and an orange prescription bottle. He pulled the bottle out, careful not to let it rattle, and shook a couple Vicodin into his hand. He rolled them around in his palm, looking at them. Then he dropped the pills back into the bottle with two soft clunks and replaced the bottle in the baking soda box. Putting the box back on the high shelf behind the cornstarch where it belonged, House closed the cabinet and started limping back to the bedroom.

Wilson wasn't asleep yet, but close to it. House shed his jeans and t shirt and leaned his cane carefully against the wall on his side of the bed before climbing in. Wilson made a content humming sound at the rustle of the blankets and lazily reached a hand back for House. House took the offered hand, pulling himself closer to his lover. He slipped both arms around Wilson's waist and clung, his forehead pressed to Wilson's shoulder and half off the pillow.

"Greg, you okay?" Wilson murmured.

"Are we okay?" House asked hoarsely back.

"Yeah," Wilson said sincerely.

House squeezed his hand. "Then I'm okay."


	16. Babysitting

7.15—"Babysitting"

There was a soft knock on Wilson's door before Cuddy hesitantly let herself in. "Good morning, Dr. Wilson," she greeted, smiling nervously.

"Good morning, Dr. Cuddy," Wilson replied, his tone of voice and facial expression similar to the Dean of Medicine's. Though she hadn't been anything other than civil since her apology to House and Wilson before her neurosyphilis diagnosis, things were still strained between them. House only spoke to her when absolutely necessary, though his hostility had begun to fade.

"Listen," Cuddy said, sitting down gingerly in Wilson's patient chair, "I know I'm in no position to ask you for a favour, but...I'm going to. I'll understand if you refuse and I won't hold it against you."

"It's not another shadowing program, is it?" Wilson asked, smiling, and Cuddy returned the smile looking relieved.

"No, it's actually a personal favour. You know I'm going to that conference in Seattle this weekend? Since Lucas and I aren't together anymore, I can't bring Rachel with me because I won't have anyone to watch her while I'm attending seminars. And my babysitter can only work days and evenings, not overnight. So I was wondering...if you'd mind babysitting." She gave him a hopeful smile.

Wilson leaned back in his chair, sighing. "Of course _I _wouldn't mind, Lisa, but you know how House feels about kids, especially babies..."

"Oh, it would just be at my house," Cuddy said. "You can use the guest bedroom. House can stay there with you if you want, but he doesn't have to."

Wilson hesitated, thinking.

"It's just two nights," Cuddy said. "The babysitter works until seven on Friday and I'll be back Sunday night. I'll pay whatever you want for the weekend, and you get two days' room and board free."

Wilson smiled at her. "All right," he agreed. "But if House asks, I told you maybe and didn't say yes until speaking with him first."

"Thank you," Cuddy said, and the oncologist could tell she really meant it. "I really appreciate it, James."

"You're welcome. Here, I'll walk out with you. I've gotta talk to House anyway, see what he thinks."

They left the office together, Cuddy heading to the elevators and Wilson to the diagnostic room. House glanced at him as he entered before turning back to his team.

"All right, the two of you whose names start with 'T' start her on Prednisone, the other two, check out the apartment. Scatter."

They did what they were told and Wilson sat down at the table next to House.

"What's up?" House asked, watching Wilson.

The oncologist smiled at his friend. "Cuddy wants me to babysit this weekend when she goes to Seattle."

House looked him over. "What'd you tell her?"

"That I'd speak with you first."

House shrugged, looking at the table. "She asked you, not me. If you want to relive your teenage years, go for it. As long as the thing stays at Cuddy's and not the condo."

"She will," Wilson said. "But I'm going to be house-sitting, too, for the weekend. Cuddy said you're welcome to stay over, too."

"But I don't have to do anything," House clarified. "Stay over at Cuddy's without having to watch the baby."

"Sounds about right," Wilson shrugged.

"Okay. But if it wakes me up in the middle of the night, I might abandon you there."

"That's fair," Wilson agreed, smiling. "Great, I'm gonna go tell Cuddy I agree."

"No," House contradicted as Wilson started to get up. "You're gonna go tell her I agree. You've obviously already told her yes. You've gotta be nice, even to people you owe absolutely nothing to. It's part of your whole wanting everybody to like you complex. You agree so she'll like you, then you pretend to ask my permission first so I'll like you."

"Do you like me?" Wilson asked, half-amused, half-bemused, from the doorway.

House looked him over and shrugged. "I like parts of you."

Wilson chuckled. "I like parts of you, too, House. I'll see you later."

[]

House went through Cuddy's refrigerator, gagging at pretty much everything he saw, while Wilson introduced himself to the babysitter and took Rachel.

"Where Mamma?" the toddler asked, looking up at Wilson.

"She went on a trip," Wilson explained. "My name is James and this is my friend Greg, and we're going to watch you until she gets back. She'll be back the day after tomorrow."

Rachel nodded, processing and accepting this. "You sleep here?"

"That's right, Greg and I are going to sleep here tonight and tomorrow."

She nodded again. "I want go down."

Wilson placed her carefully on the floor, and she toddled into the kitchen where House was raiding Cuddy's cabinets. Rachel looked up at the tall man.

"What you name?"

"My name is House. But I'm not watching you, I'm just looking for something edible. Go bother Wilson."

Rachel giggled. "House not name! House..." she thought for a moment, then brightened and wandered off to the living room. She pulled a picture book from the shelf next to the television and brought it over to House. She opened it to a page showing a house and pointed. "This house," she announced.

House looked at the book, then at her, and shrugged. "Touché. You can call me Greg, unless you have a picture of one of those too."

"Geg," Rachel repeated. She turned to Wilson, who had been watching the scene with amusement. "What you name?"

"His name's Wilson," House responded before the oncologist could answer.

"Wisn," Rachel repeated, looking at him, before turning her attention to House again. "You sleep here?"

"Yup. I sleep with Wilson."

"House," Wilson said in a warning voice.

"What?" House asked innocently. "I meant it in the literal sense. Get your head out of the gutter, Wilson, there's a child present."

"Come on," Rachel said, toddling out of the kitchen. "I show you." Wilson began to follow her, and House, giving up on finding a snack with more than five calories, followed him. Rachel led them down the hall into Cuddy's room and pointed at the bed. "This Mamma room," Rachel explained. "You sleep here."

House grinned at Wilson.

"House, n–"

"–We are _so_–"

"–We are so not," Wilson contradicted, blushing. He squatted down to the girl's level. "Actually, Rachel, your mamma said we're going to sleep in the guest room. It's down the hall from here."

"Guess room?"

Wilson took her small hand and led her there; she nodded when the reached it.

"This exta room," she said. "You sleep here?"

"We'll _sleep_ here," House grinned, qualifying, "but before we go to sleep we'll spend some time in Mamma's room, too."

"No," Wilson said. "We won't. Now why don't you call for some dinner? I've got to give Rachel a bath and get her ready for bed."

House lifted Wilson's wallet from his back pocket (Wilson knew it was just an excuse to touch his ass; he had all the credit card numbers memorised) and disappeared back into the living room.

[]

The two doctors lay, panting, on their backs, all important body parts covered with the white sheet, but naked underneath it.

"Cuddy's going to kill us," Wilson groaned in between breaths. "I can't believe you."

"Sure you can," House said cheerfully.

"You know that she's had sex with Lucas in this bed, right?"

House shrugged. "You've had sex with Sam in our bed."

Wilson put his hands over his face. "_When_ are you going to let that go? It wasn't our bed at the time, House, and how many times do you need to hear me say that I was only with her because I knew I was in love with you?"

"Seventy-three," House deadpanned.

Wilson chuckled and got up, looking for his clothes. After a moment, House followed suit.

"I hope we haven't scarred her for life," Wilson muttered as he pulled on an undershirt.

House scoffed. "Like you're not gonna go to_ Bed, Bath, and Beyond_ tomorrow and buy her a new set of sheets."

"I meant _Rachel,_" Wilson said, rolling his eyes. "I'm going to go check on her and make sure she didn't wake up."

House followed him.

The toddler was fast asleep in her small bed, mouth open and clutching a stuffed rabbit. Wilson looked at her fondly and stroked her hair. House looked from Wilson to the baby and back to Wilson, who stopped stroking her hair to smile at his lover.

"Absolutely not," House said in a stage-whisper. "We are _not_ having a baby. No way, Wilson."

Wilson chuckled, stepping over to House and giving him a quick kiss. "I know we're not."

"You had that look," House accused. "The look women get when they see someone else's baby and then decide to have one of their own."

"For what it's worth, I think you'd be a good father, Greg. But don't worry, we don't need to have a baby, I'm happy with our life the way it is." He kissed House again before smiling at him. "Come on, let's get to bed."

[]

House sat on Cuddy's couch, watching TV at low volume. It was the middle of the night, but after over an hour of failing to fall asleep he decided to give up. He rubbed his leg absent-mindedly. A door creaked, and he turned his head back but didn't see Wilson. Maybe just a draft. Then he heard the soft padding of feet and Rachel appeared around the side of the couch.

He looked her over. "You're supposed to be in bed."

"No can sleep." She looked around the room. "Where Mamma?"

"She's not here. She's in Seattle. She'll be back Sunday night. Go back to bed."

Rachel's chin quivered and House grimaced. "I want Mamma," she said, tears sliding down her face.

House sighed and picked her up, setting her down beside him on the couch. She wasn't sobbing, but crying quietly.

"I want Mamma," she softly repeated.

"Hold on a sec, I'll try and give her a call," House said, reaching for the phone on the coffee table.

Rachel looked at him, not crying anymore. "Mamma no sleepin'?"

"It's two in the morning here," House said, dialling, "but in Seattle, where Cuddy is, it's only eleven at night. She might still be awake."

_"Hello?"_ She sounded tired, but she still answered.

"Yeah, your kid's got insomnia and she wants to talk to you," House said, handing the phone to Rachel.

"Mamma?" Rachel asked as House positioned the phone correctly in her hands. Her face lit up. "Hi, Mamma...no can sleep...yes...yes...wuvvoo too, Mamma." She looked up at House, who took the phone back.

_"House?"_ Cuddy's voice said through the phone.

"Yeah?"

She paused. _"Thank you. That was...a really nice thing to do."_

House shrugged. "Just selfish. She was crying...you know..."

_"Even so,"_ she said. _"I appreciate it."_

"Just don't tell Wilson about it," House said. "I don't need to see the smug look on his face."

Cuddy chuckled._ "All right, House, I won't. Good night."_

"Night."

He hung up the phone and turned to Rachel, who'd been watching him. "I no crying," she said.

"Yeah, not anymore," House agreed. "I fixed it. Maybe Wilson's right after all. But we can't let him know that, okay?"

Rachel nodded. "Okay."

[]

Wilson rolled over in bed and felt House's absence. He opened his eyes and grabbed his phone. Just past three. Insomnia? But then he heard a high-pitched giggle. Rachel? Wilson got up, intrigued. Why would House be up with Rachel?

"Oh, here he comes," Wilson heard House's voice as he came down the hallway. Two heads peered at him from over the top of the couch. "All right," House continued, turning to Rachel. "Now just like I taught you, okay? And make sure to give him a big smile, too."

"Okay," Rachel agreed. She grinned at Wilson as he joined them on the couch. "Niseass, Wisn."

"House!" Wilson admonished, stifling laughter while House roared with it. "That's terrible." The effect of his words were slightly ruined by the grin on his face, and neither of the others took him seriously.

"Learning to compliment others is important for making friends," House pointed out.

"There's a difference between a compliment and sexual harassment," Wilson retorted, still smiling.

"You gonna sue her?"

Wilson chuckled. "Her mom might sue_ you _if she finds out."

"Nah, she won't. She'll be jumping with joy that things are back to normal between us."

"I guess," Wilson conceded. "So what are you two doing up?"

"No can sleep," Rachel explained. "An Geg no can sleep."

"And what's that called?" House prompted.

"Nsomia," Rachel piped up.

House grinned at Wilson, who smiled back.

"I was right," Wilson said, ruffling House's hair.

"No you weren't," House contradicted, dodging his hand. "At some point I'd lose my patience."

"All parents lose their patience sometimes," Wilson pointed out.

"We're _not_ having a baby, Wilson."

Wilson grinned. "I know. I'm just saying..."

"Geg call Mamma," Rachel announced.

Both doctors looked at her, Wilson astonished, House somewhere between amused and betrayed. Wilson turned to him. "You called Cuddy? Why?"

"Nothing," House said quickly, avoiding his eye. "Just..."

"I crying," Rachel explained. "I crying, Geg call Mamma, I no crying."

Wilson beamed at House, who refused to look at him. "Greg, that was such a nice thing to do."

House looked at Rachel. "Traitor. You weren't supposed to tell."

Rachel just smiled and yawned.

Wilson was staring at House like he'd never seen anything quite like him. House, annoyed with the positive attention, leaned over and kissed him quickly to get him to shut up.

Rachel stared at House. "You kiss him?" she asked. "Why you kiss him?"

"Because he has a nice ass," House smirked.

Wilson chuckled. He picked Rachel up and turned her toward him. "He kissed me because he loves me."

"He love you?"

Wilson nodded. "He loves me very much."

"Wilson, stop, you're getting sap all over the baby."

Rachel giggled. "I no baby!" Then she yawned again.

"The no-baby is sleepy," Wilson said, holding her and standing up. "I'm going to put her back to bed."

"No can sleep," Rachel contradicted groggily. "Nsomia."

"Let's give it another try anyway," Wilson suggested, taking her back to her bedroom.

[]

Wilson pushed Rachel in her stroller down the aisles of the department store while House followed.

"How'd you talk me into this again?" the older man asked, making eye contact with anyone who tried to stare at them until they looked away.

"The same way I talked Rachel into it. If both of you behave, I'll buy you ice cream."

"Ah, bribery. So wrong and yet so effective."

"So it is."

"We get iscweam now?" Rachel asked hopefully from her stroller.

"After we finish here," Wilson clarified, turning down an aisle toward the bedding department. "First we need to buy a new set of sheets for your mamma."

"Seriously, Wilson," House said, rolling his eyes. "You could just throw them in the wash."

"No, I can't. She's getting new ones. She's never finding out about this."

"Unless Rachel squeals," House pointed out.

Wilson smirked. "Well, that's why I'm getting her the new sheets, so even if she does believe you when you tell her, at least...you know."

He pushed Rachel's stroller down the aisle containing white sheets while House waited, looking bored.

"House?" a female voice asked, and House turned his head and grimaced when he saw a woman with curly black hair approach him.

"Bonnie," he said. "What a coincidence. Well I'm sure you're in a hurry and I wouldn't want to keep you from your shopping."

"Oh, not at all," she said. "Are you still seeing a lot of James? How is he?"

Bonnie's question was answered for her when the man himself came down the aisle, a set of bedsheets in one hand and pushing a stroller in the other.

"Oh..." Bonnie said, looking from House to Wilson and Rachel and back again. "Oh..."

"Bonnie!" Wilson exclaimed, stopping short. "Ah, what a coincidence...seeing you here."

"Yeah," Bonnie agreed, trying to pretend the moment wasn't half as awkward as it was. "I saw House and was just asking him about you, but I didn't realise...wow, has it really been that long?"

"Oh," Wilson said, blushing and looking down at Rachel. "She's not...we didn't...I mean, we_ are_, but that's not...she's not...we're babysitting," he blurted out finally while both his ex lover and current lover stared at him.

"Okay," Bonnie nodded, looking from Wilson to House and back again. "Great. Well, good luck with everything. Nice seeing you again James...House..." and she scampered off.

"You were right about him," House called after her, and she gave a quick look back before disappearing.

Wilson sighed and House gave him a bemused look.

"What was that about?"

"I don't know. I didn't want her to get the wrong idea. I mean, two men walking around with a toddler in a stroller..."

"Wilson, you had to bribe me into coming with you. And Rachel's not ours, but we _are_ together."

"I know," Wilson said quickly. "And I told her that...sort of."

"Yes, you made it very clear," House scoffed. "How hard is it to say, 'Greg and I are together now. Rachel's not ours, we're babysitting her.'?"

"I don't know."

House shrugged. "I guess it's kind of weird, she's your ex wife and all. Did you not want her to know? You didn't seem to have a problem telling the whole hospital."

"_You_ kissed_ me _in front of the whole hospital," Wilson reminded him. "I didn't really have a choice."

"You could have not kissed back, pushed me away and called me a pervert."

Wilson chuckled. "No I couldn't. You're too good a kisser. But for what it's worth, no, I don't mind the hospital knowing."

"But you mind your exes knowing?" House probed. "You were kind of annoyed when I made out with you in front of Sam."

"No, I had to tell Sam," Wilson said. "I owed her that much for using her."

"Have you told Julie?"

"I haven't spoken to Julie since the divorce."

House looked at him for a minute. "Have you told your parents?"

Wilson didn't answer. He felt House's eyes on him, so he finally turned to look at him. "Have you told your mother?" he asked in return.

"She learned years ago to stop asking if I'm seeing anyone."

"Okay, so don't try and make me feel guilty about not telling mine either."

"I wasn't trying to make you feel guilty; I was asking. I was curious."

"I will tell them," Wilson said. "When...I'm ready."

"Okay," House agreed. He and Rachel both watched Wilson. "Kiss me," House requested.

Wilson looked at him like he'd just asked him to set the bedding department on fire. "What?"

"Kiss me," House repeated. "Right here, right now."

"We're in the middle of a department store!"

"Exactly," House said. "And we're both men. And people will notice. And that matters to you."

"It's...rude to kiss in public," Wilson deflected, looking away. "Whether it's a man and a woman or two men."

"If you were still married to Bonnie and she asked you to kiss her, you'd do it," House said.

"That's ridiculous," Wilson disagreed. "I'll kiss you when we get back to Cuddy's, House, or even in the car if you want, but not here."

House sighed and turned away. Wilson resumed pushing Rachel's stroller down the aisle as they made their way to the registers.

"Why you no kiss Geg?" Rachel asked him. "You no love him?"

House smirked. "Yeah, Wilson. You no love me?"

"You know I do."

"Well?"

Wilson sighed. "If it will get the both of you to cut it out, fine." He let go of the stroller and gave House a quick peck on the lips.

House rolled his eyes. "That's the kind of kiss Cuddy gives to Rachel. Come on, Wilson, you're my boyfriend, not my mother."

"People are already staring at us," Wilson murmured under his breath.

"Yeah, and their opinions matter more to you than me."

"Greg, that's not fair!"

"It's fair and it's true."

"You know what, fine, okay?" Wilson let go of Rachel's stroller for the second time in two minutes and wrapped his arms around House's waist, kissing him deeply while the diagnostician kissed back. He spent a moment kissing before pulling away. "There," he said, looking House in the eyes, "are you satisfied?"

"I think so," House said, smirking. "Now let's get going, you promised us ice cream."

"And House," Wilson added, not looking at him as he started pushing Rachel again.

"What?"

"I am going to tell my parents."

"Okay, Jimmy."

[]

House sat on Wilson's couch, watching him. The oncologist took a deep breath and picked up the phone. He started to dial, but was interrupted by a shout from next door.

"Do you any of you know were House is?" Cuddy's voice came clearly through the wall between the offices.

The answer was indistinct, but Cuddy's reply was not. "Because I'm sure he's the only one who'll know why my two-year-old daughter complimented my ass!"

House grinned at Wilson, who chuckled back. Then he picked up the phone.


	17. Meet the Parents

**A/N:** I know this kind of plot-line has been done before, but not by me, and I think it flows well from the previous chapter. I admit there are some fluffy moments, but it comes with the territory. And the next chapter gets exciting/dramatic again.

7.16—"Meet the Parents"

"Okay," House said into his cell phone. "Love you too." He pressed 'end call' and rubbed his temples, sighing.

Wilson walked in the room. "What time's her flight getting in?"

"Three-thirty," the other replied, dropping his phone on the nightstand and sitting down on the bed. "She'll take a cab to the hotel, and I can pick her up for dinner on my way home from work."

Wilson sat down on the bed next to him. "You nervous?"

House shrugged. "She's my mom. She loves me. That's not gonna change 'cause I'm half-gay. And you know she'll be thrilled that it's you. She already thinks of you as a son-in-law."

Wilson smiled at that. "Well, I've got to admit, better her than any of the actual mothers-in-law I've had. Sam's mom thought we were way too young even though we were already grad students. Bonnie's mom loved me to death but she was just a nightmare...imagine Bonnie cubed. And Julie's mom never trusted me. She found it way too suspicious that it was my third marriage. I guess she was right though." He smiled a bit at the memories while House watched him.

"Are _you_ nervous?" the older man asked.

Wilson turned to him. "I'm terrified," he admitted. "I don't know, just...I mean they're already disappointed in me for getting divorced three times, and now I'm compounding the problem by dating a guy...but I'm not gonna lie to them anymore. This is my life. You...are the most important thing in my life. It is what it is, and I have no reason to hide it."

House smiled. "You sure?"

Wilson nodded. "Yes."

"And for what it's worth," House added, "however they react, it can't be any worse than what my dad would say if he were still alive."

Wilson shrugged, unsure how to respond, and stared straight ahead. House followed suit.

[]

"James!" Blythe House exclaimed, hurrying into the kitchen to give Wilson a hug.

"Hello, Mrs. House," he greeted, smiling at her son over her shoulder. "How was your flight?"

"Just fine, and I've asked you before to call me 'Blythe,'" she scolded, smiling at him. "How are you? Keeping Greg out of trouble?"

Wilson mock-grimaced. "It's more like Greg's getting me _into_ trouble, actually. Sorry."

Blythe laughed. "Nothing too bad, I hope. He tells me he cooks now; I'm assuming you had something to do with that."

"Well, I did talk him into taking a cooking class with me. Seriously, one class and his skills surpassed mine. Which reminds me—Greg, get over here and make the sauce."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Wilson," House responded, joining the other two in the kitchen anyway.

"He's lying," Wilson said to Blythe, nodding at House. "As long as he actually believes what I tell him, flattery works every time."

Blythe chucked again, shaking her head. "Here, let me help with something."

A half hour later the wine and the gourmet dinner had been served.

"I'm impressed, Greg," Blythe said, smiling at her son as she took a bite. "This really is delicious."

"Yeah, but even I can't beat Wilson when it comes to pancakes," House said, taking a sip of wine. "I try to tell him I need fattening up, but he still only makes them for special occasions."

"Good for you," she responded, smiling at the oncologist. "So tell me, James," she continued after a minute. "Are you seeing anyone?"

House and Wilson looked at each other. This was it.

"Yes," House answered for him. "Someone I actually approve of, for once," he added, causing Wilson to snicker.

"Oh?" Blythe asked, dabbing at her face with a napkin. "And who might that be?"

They looked at each other again before House turned back to his mother. "Actually, Mom, it's me. James and I are seeing each other."

Much to the doctors' relief, she smiled. "Greg, that's wonderful news," she said, patting her son's hand and giving him a genuine smile. "So that's why you wanted me to come visit, you wanted to tell me in person. Well that's good, I'm happy for you both."

House and Wilson exchanged smiles. "So it doesn't bother you that he's a guy?" House clarified.

"I just want you to be happy," Blythe insisted. "And I don't think you could be happier with anyone else than you could be with James."

House gave his lover a quick smile, communicating without words that she was correct. Wilson squeezed his hand on the table.

"So how long have you been seeing each other?" she asked, returning to her food.

"Just over five months now," Wilson responded.

"I think this is the longest he's been in a relationship without getting married," House quipped, though he was exaggerating.

Wilson gave him a significant look, causing House to quickly turn back to his plate. "You and Stacy moved in together after a week," the younger man reminded him after he looked away. "Maybe not the same as getting married, but I always wait at least a few months before taking that step."

"Sam," House reminded him. "You were barely together a month before she moved in."

"She was my first ex wife; it was different with her," Wilson explained before turning to Blythe to fill her in. "I was dating her again for awhile just before Greg and I got together. He can't let it go."

"You were being an idiot," House said, taking a bite of food.

Wilson rolled his eyes. "We've had this conversation plenty of times, House. Going through it again would be redundant."

"Maybe I just like hearing you say that you were so in love with me you had to go chasing some ex wife tail to distract yourself," the diagnostician suggested.

"So how have you been?" Wilson asked Blythe, purposefully ignoring House.

[]

House stared at Wilson. "That's what you're wearing?"

"What?" Wilson asked, looking down at himself. He was wearing black pants, a silver tie, and a black suit jacket.

"You're coming out to your parents, not taking them to prom," House said, rolling his eyes. "Lose the jacket." He crossed the room to assist Wilson with this task.

"I'm nervous," Wilson defended. "I want to look nice."

"Yeah, because they'll turn to each other and say, 'Oh, our child is gay, but since he's wearing a suit we're automatically going to accept his new lifestyle.' Either they'll be okay with it right away or they won't. Your wardrobe won't have any influence on it."

"So I can keep the jacket, then," Wilson said, smiling at House.

"No, because then it'll just take that much longer to get you naked tonight," House contradicted.

"House, assuming they don't disown me, they're staying with us tonight," Wilson reminded, turning to him. "They could be...leaping for joy that we're gay lovers, I'm still not sleeping with you with them in the next room."

"Me being in the next room never stopped you from sleeping with Sam," House muttered under his breath.

"For god's sake, House, let it go already! Who am I with now, Sam or you, huh?"

"Only because she dumped you," he pointed out with a shrug. "If she hadn't had a problem with you moving things too fast, you'd still be together."

"You're right," Wilson said, sighing. "And if Julie hadn't cheated on me and kicked me out, I'd still be with her. And if Sam hadn't divorced me the first time, we'd still be together. And if my mother hadn't broken up with her first boyfriend, I would never have been conceived. But that's not the way life turned out. I'm with you now, I'm in love with you, I'm happier with you than I've been since Amber died, and I plan on staying that way. Your jealousy of Sam is irrational, and there's no reason to keep bringing it up."

He stepped past House and went into the bathroom to floss his teeth before his parents arrived.

[]

House met his mother in the lobby of her hotel before they headed back up to her room.

"So James is talking to his parents now?" she asked, sitting down in one of the armchairs.

"He will be any minute," House responded with a shrug. "He's scared half to death, thinks they're gonna disown him or something."

"Well you've met them," Blythe said. "Did they seem like reasonable people?"

"Probably. They didn't seem to like me very much. Then again, a lot of people one would consider 'reasonable' don't like me."

"Oh, that can't be true."

House didn't answer. He stared at ugly landscape painting on the hotel wall and shrugged.

"Greg?" she asked, and he turned to her. She looked serious. "Are you happy? With James?"

He thought about for a minute before responding. "I'm...happ_ier_ than I can remember being."

"That's good, isn't it?" she prompted. "You seemed happy last night. I don't think I've ever seen you smile so many times in one night."

House smiled again at her comment. "I'm in love with him," he said simply.

"And he loves you?" Blythe asked.

"Yeah," House said, nodding. "He loves me. Not as much as I love him, I think, but I don't know if that's even possible."

His mother nodded along, looking slightly concerned. "Does he treat you well?"

"Yes," House answered resolutely, looking Blythe in the eye. "He feeds me, does my laundry, keeps the place clean. He tells me he loves me so often it drives me crazy, but it gets the message across, which I guess I need." He gripped his cane with one hand and something in his pocket with the other.

Blythe studied her son carefully. "And do you treat him well?"

House's face went blank as he thought for a moment. "I...I don't know. I cook for him sometimes...I...I don't know."

[]

"His name is Rodney," Blythe said. "I met him through church. We've gone out to dinner a few times, but nothing serious."

House nodded, but before he could ask anything else, his phone interrupted with "Dancing Queen."

"It's Wilson," House said, immediately flipping open the phone and getting out of the chair. "Hello?" he asked, making his way to the hallway to take the call in privacy.

_"Well, they've agreed to meet you," _Wilson said. He sounded exhausted._ "I mean, I know they've met you before, but...you know."_

"Yeah yeah yeah, this time as your boyfriend. Whatever. Wilson, do I treat you well?"

There was silence on the other end of the line. House stared at the phone.

_"What brought that on?"_ Wilson asked finally.

"My mom asked me," House admitted, looking back at the door to the hotel room. "I couldn't answer her. Do I? I know I...never do my share of the chores, I make you pay for everything, I keep harassing you about Sam even though I know that happened months ago...I rarely ever tell you I love you and...now, Jesus, I'm interrogating you about how you think I treat you instead of asking how it went with your parents."

House heard a chuckle over the phone.

_"Well, my dad is still kind of in shock, I think it might take him a while to get used to it, but my mom...she said she's had suspicions since I was young. She's totally fine with it. And to answer your question...Greg, you..." _Wilson sighed, but he didn't sound upset or frustrated. It sounded like he was smiling. _"I thrive on being needed, remember? Yes, it would be nice if you'd do the dishes once-in-a-while, but at least you don't put the milk in the door of the fridge."_

House smiled into the phone.

_"You keep my life interesting. You always have. I never get bored when you're around. You can make me laugh–"_

"–All right, all right, I get the idea," House interrupted. "A simple 'yes' or 'no' would have sufficed. There's no need to get all mushy about it."

_"No, let me finish," _Wilson insisted. _"You play songs on the organ that you know I like, you sometimes convince me to make or buy fattening food that neither of us need but that tastes good. Maybe you don't tell me you love me out loud very often, but I know you do from your body language. The way you look at me sometimes, making me feel like I'm the most important person in the world. At night you insist on holding me, and you have no idea how loved that makes me feel. Greg...you fulfil all of my needs. I can't imagine anyone treating me better than you do."_

House waited a beat before responding. "Are you done yet?"

Wilson chuckled into the phone.

"What's so funny?"

_"You didn't hang up," _he said, sounding almost accusatory. _"You could have put the phone down at any time but you didn't. You wanted to hear me say all those things."_

"Lies. I do not, have never, and will never believe in sap."

_"You didn't hang up the phone," _Wilson pointed out, his tone teasing._ "Closet romantic. You love hearing me say how much I love you."_

"I'm hanging up the phone _now_," House warned. "Anything else you wanna say, you've got three seconds to cram it in...two...one..."

_"I love you, Greg,"_ Wilson managed to get in before House hung up the phone.

House shook his head at it, still smiling, and pushed open the hotel room door to say goodbye to his mother.

[]

"Oh, there he is," House heard a loud woman's voice say as he made his way into the restaurant. His eyes followed it and came to rest upon a trio sitting in a booth in the corner. Wilson sat across from his parents: his beaming, waving mother and rather subdued father.

House kind of wanted to smile as he made his way over to them, make a good impression and everything, but he couldn't quite manage it.

"Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Wilson," he greeted as he arrived at the table. He made to sit down next to their son, but before he could move Mrs. Wilson extracted herself from the booth to give House a giant hug.

"Greg, it's so lovely to see you!" Mrs. Wilson exclaimed, her arms wrapped around House while his hung at his sides, waiting for her to stop. At last she pulled back and inspected him. "I know we've only met a few times," she continued, sitting down again, much to House's relief. "But James speaks of you so often we feel we already know you."

"Oh," House said, biting back any number of less than polite comebacks for Wilson's benefit, and sitting down next to him.

"You know," Mrs. Wilson mused, smiling across the table at House, "it didn't come as a surprise at all to hear he was dating you—three divorces! And even when he was growing up I always wondered if he was...well...so inclined...but he seemed interested enough in the ladies and I figured it was something he needed to work out for himself and then when we met you, well...the first time we met you was at James's second wedding, so naturally I didn't want to say anything, I mean he was getting married!" She let out a high-pitched laugh before continuing. "And of course you were seeing that young woman too, at the time, but it did cross my mind, and after James's second marriage fell through, I wondered if then...imagine my surprise when he told us he and Julie were engaged! And you and your girlfriend were broken up, but the two of you were still friends. Of course I _wanted_ things to work out with Julie, for James's benefit, but I had a feeling...and seeing the two of you interact, even at the wedding...it took everything I had to hold my tongue. Either it would work out or it wouldn't...I didn't want James to make a mistake, but since he'd never said a word to me...sexual identity is a very personal thing, and yes, I'm his mother, but even I can't tell him who he is when it comes to things like that. I just trusted that he would figure it out at his own pace, and tell us if and when he was ready."

Fortunately, a waiter appeared at that point and Mrs. Wilson had to pause in her ramble while everyone ordered. After that, Wilson managed to distract his mother by asking about his brother, and House was spared the awkwardness of hearing his lover's mother prattle on about her suspicions of her son's sexual orientation.

He sipped at his water and subtly observed Mr. Wilson. The man hadn't said a word since House arrived—not that he could really get a word in—and was inspecting the drink menu rather than looking at anyone. Of the few times he'd met him, House didn't remember him as overly talkative, but he hadn't been this silent either. Clearly, unlike his wife, he'd had absolutely no clue that his son was anything other than heterosexual and seemed less than pleased by the fact. House guessed that he was going along with this whole thing more for his wife's benefit than Wilson's. He wasn't exactly hostile, but not quite friendly, either.

That didn't really bother House. As long as the man didn't give James a hard time, he was okay with not becoming best friends with him.

After the main course arrived, Mrs. Wilson turned her attention to House again.

"So James tells me you've been dating for around five months, right, though in a sense you've been together significantly longer than that?"

House and Wilson exchanged glances and the latter fielded the question. "In a way, you could say there's always been something there, but really, Mom, it's only over the last year that I've started having stronger feelings for him, and I actually never intended to act on them. It was kind of an accident how we got together. Like I was telling you, I struggled with it for quite some time, even after I knew for sure how I felt I still tried to pretend I didn't. It was only very recently that I've been able to admit my feelings to myself. I can't speak for Greg, though," he added, giving him a sidelong glance.

The older doctor was playing with his food with his fork. "I don't know when it happened," he admitted. "When I was with Stacy, I was in love with her, so it couldn't have been until after that, but...yeah, like you, I spent time pretending. Years, really. But it was Mayfield..." he looked up at Wilson, ignoring his parents, and spoke directly to him. "When you dropped me off at Mayfield, that's when I...not when I knew, but when I...admitted it. To myself."

Wilson nodded in understanding, turning across the table again. "I think that's when it really started building. When he moved in with me after Mayfield."

"And that was..." Mrs. Wilson paused, thinking. "What, a year ago?"

"About a year and a half," Wilson amended with a shrug.

"A year and a half you've been living together," she repeated, her eyes widening. Then an enthusiastic smile crossed her face. "So, have the two of you talked about getting married?" she asked.

Mr. Wilson choked on his beer. He started coughing, and the doctors watched while his wife patted him on the back until he'd cleared his lungs.

"Well, to answer your question, Mom," Wilson said as though there hadn't been an interruption, "I actually proposed to Greg awhile back. He has yet to give me a response."

"Oh, please," House said, rolling his eyes. "You were joking. It was before we were even together," he explained to Mrs. Wilson. "He had the hots for our downstairs neighbour, but since I was closer to nai—starting a relationship with her, he decided to try and convince her we were lovers so she would back off. He figured the best way to get his message across was to stage a marriage proposal in front of a restaurant."

"Hey, he started it," Wilson pointed out. "I told her from the start we weren't together—which was the truth, at the time. But every time he saw her he pretended we were. He's tried to sabotage every relationship I've ever had."

"Wonder why that could be?" House mused, looking around the restaurant in mock-wonder before winking at Mrs. Wilson.

Wilson rolled his eyes.

"But, since you've been dating," she clarified, pointing back and forth from House to Wilson. "You haven't talked about it?"

"No," Wilson said, looking away from his mother. "Not really."

"I think he thinks it's bad luck," House pointed out with a shrug. "I mean hey, every other relationship he's had was fine until he got hitched. Why should I be any different, right?"

Wilson stared at House while he took another drink of his water, continuing to face forward and pretending he didn't notice his lover's gaze.

[]

Wilson lay awake, staring at his bedroom wall. House's arms were tight around him, as always, as though he were afraid Wilson might slip out in the middle of the night and run away if the older man weren't holding him. Wilson squeezed his fingers.

"Greg?" he said softly.

"Unless you changed your mind about having sex, shut up," House murmured. "I'm trying to sleep here."

"Greg, do you want to get married?"

Wilson rolled over on the bed, so he could face House for the answer. For a moment the older man just stared at him.

"I've gotta say, Wilson," he responded after a moment. "This isn't nearly as romantic as your last proposal."

"I...I'm not proposing," Wilson clarified quietly. "I'm asking. When we spoke with your mom, you brought it up, and at dinner with my parents, you commented on it as well. So it got me wondering if...it's something that you want. Maybe I'm wrong, I don't know if you're...the marrying kind...like I am. I'm not requesting you do it. I'm asking if it's what you want."

House sighed, and then he spent a few minutes studying Wilson. "I want...you to...god, Wilson, do we have to have this conversation?"

"It's a 'yes' or 'no' question, Greg. Either you'd like to get married or you wouldn't. It doesn't have to be more complicated than that."

"Yes it does," House muttered. He rolled over onto his back and stared at the ceiling. "Wilson..." he sighed again. "Okay, Wilson...damn..."

"Greg," Wilson interrupted. "Look at me."

House turned over again to face the younger man, who spent a moment looking at him before leaning forward and giving him a gentle, chaste kiss. House wondered how Wilson always knew exactly what he needed. He felt relaxed, and suddenly, what he needed to say no longer sounded ridiculously sentimental. It was simply true, a desire, and Wilson was in love with him and would not find it over-sweet. "Wilson..." he said slowly, keeping their eyes locked together, "I want for you to spend the rest of your life with me."

Wilson stared at him, a smile playing around his lips. "So...you do want to get married then."

"That's not...exactly what I said," House pointed out, looking away. "I said what I want, but how we get there is up to you. If you think the best way for that to happen is a wedding, then fine, we can go through with a wedding. If you think it's a better idea not to come near a marriage license with a 50ft pole, then we won't. It's...it's your decision, Wilson. I don't know what it'll take to get you to stay, but whatever it is, that's what we'll do."

"Greg..." Wilson said softly, and House allowed him to run a couple fingers through his short hair. He whispered, "Greg, I want to spend the rest of my life with you too. I don't think you've ever liked weddings, and I've had enough of them to last me a lifetime, literally, but certainly if you wanted to, we could–"

"–I don't want a wedding," House cut in. "You're right. I don't like them. What about the legal stuff? Do you think signing a piece of paper will make you more likely to stick around or more likely to stray?"

The younger man looked the older in the eye. "I don't think signing a piece of paper will have any effect on the duration of our relationship. It would give us more rights as a couple, but that's not what this conversation is about."

"Right, so if we decide that, it's for legal reasons, not personal ones. Okay then. We're good. Goodnight, Wilson."

"Wait, I'm not finished," Wilson interrupted, and House groaned and opened his eyes. Wilson was smiling at him. "Listen," he said, "I want to be with you until we die, and I don't think anything we do could make that desire more likely to become reality, but if you'd like...it might be nice to...maybe exchange vows and rings?" He looked at House hopefully. "Not in front of anyone, just us, a private thing. And if you're against it, we don't have to, but...I think it could bring us closer."

House looked at him. "Was that a proposal?" he asked.

Wilson chuckled. "Yes, I guess that was a proposal."

House scanned Wilson's face for a moment before slowly nodding his head. "Yeah, okay."

Wilson's face lit up. "Really?"

"Yeah, if that's what you want."

Wilson kissed him, and House kissed back for a moment before Wilson pulled away. "My parents are still in the next room," he reminded him.

"Right," House said. "Well, in that case...can I go to sleep now?"

"Yes," Wilson said with a smile.

"Finally," House muttered, turning over on the bed and pulling Wilson's arm with him. Now that he was facing away, and the younger man couldn't see him, he smiled.

**Promo (I'm pretending this is a TV show, remember?):  
**Wilson: "Greg?"  
Foreman: "Wilson, there you are. Do you have any idea where House is? He won't answer his phone."  
Wilson: "He never came home..."  
Cuddy: "Wilson, I'm sure he's fine. Maybe he didn't hear his phone, or he left it in his backpack or something."  
Wilson: "Lisa, I'm seriously worried. What if...what if he's doing drugs again?" _You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen..._ House: "Wilson! Wilson, I can't reach my phone..."  
...


	18. Down by the Side of the Road

**A/N:** There is some medical stuff in here. I have done research on the internet (as House says, who needs med school when you've got wi-fi?), but if there are any inaccuracies I apologise. I gave up on aspiring to be a doctor when I was fifteen, and most of my medical knowledge comes from "House, M.D." So if I'm way off about something, sorry, my fault.

7.17—"Down by the Side of the Road"

"Hey," Wilson said into his cell phone. "Are you gonna be home soon?"

"Yeah, I'm just leaving," House replied, slipping into his leather jacket with the hand that wasn't holding his phone. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes, and you'd better be naked."

Wilson grinned, glad that House couldn't see him. "All right, see you when you get home, then. I love you."

House rolled his eyes at the phone while trying to hide a smile as he slipped it into his pocket. He grabbed his backpack and helmet and exited his office. He'd almost made it to the front door when Cuddy accosted him.

"Dr. House, there you are."

House groaned. "And if it weren't for this cane, here I wouldn't be. I'm off the clock, Cuddy. It's late, I'm exhausted, and Wilson's waiting naked for me at home, where I'm going now."

"I didn't need to know that," Cuddy said. She tried to hand him a blue file, but he sidestepped her.

"House–"

"–It's nine-thirty. I just _solved_ a case. And now I'm going _home_."

"House, this guy's dying," Cuddy said, stepping in front of him and trying to get him to take the file. "Please, just run a differential with your team and they can keep an eye on him overnight. I wouldn't even ask, but he might not make it till morning and you have the chance to save his life."

"Not interested."

"House." Cuddy used her boss voice. She stared intently at him until he gave her a look of pure loathing and took the file.

Slowly heading back to the elevator, he pulled his phone out of his pocket to send Wilson a text.

'Change of plans. Had a case forced on me. Don't wait up.'

Then he sighed and slipped the phone back into his pocket, moodily opening the file.

His team, looking no more excited at the prospect of staying late than he was, was already in the patient's room.

"She got to you too, huh?" Thirteen said, taking the man's blood.

"Quit doing that and give me a differential," House ordered. "The sooner we have a diagnosis, the sooner we all get home to our loved ones." He shrugged at Foreman. "For those of us who have loved ones, that is. So tell me, what causes vomiting blood, dizziness, and–"

The heart rate monitor started beeping erratically.

House glanced up from the file. "–apparently, heart attack," he finished as Chase called for a crash cart and the fellows went to work.

"Clear!" Thirteen shouted and shocked him. The machine flatlined. "Clear!"

House glanced at the patient, then looked at his watch.

"Clear!"

The flatline continued.

Everyone in the room looked at each other. Thirteen sighed. "Time of death, 21:47."

"Oh well," House said, shrugging. "They'll figure it out at the autopsy. And as much as I was looking forward to spending the night surrounded by your loving faces...wait, what am I saying?" He shook his head and left the room.

[]

House loved the motorcycle. He loved going fast. He knew it was a poor substitute for running because pressing on pedals was hardly exerting his body, but he could go much faster on a motorcycle than his legs could carry him. As fast as a car, but without the confinement. The feel of the wind rushing past him, the knowledge of how close he was to the road, the elements, the air, the world.

Wilson hated the thing, but not House. And he wasn't too bad about speeding. It was the middle of the night; the two lane highway was deserted. 10 mph over wasn't too bad. Besides, he'd told Wilson not to wait up for him back when he thought he'd be getting a case, and if he hurried he might catch him before he went to bed.

He saw the stalled car. There were no streetlights on this part of the road and the car itself didn't have lights on, but House's headlight was enough for him to see the car with enough time to avoid crashing into it. Just not enough time to slow down. The rate he was going gave him about a millisecond to choose between two options: swerve to the left or swerve to the right. Swerving to the left might cause a problem with oncoming traffic—not that there was any at this time of night—but it was enough of a reason to make his choice for him. He swerved to the right.

House's intention was to just ride the shoulder around the stalled car, but the fact that this particular road's shoulder was made up of a large bump where the asphalt became gravel, combined with House's speed and sharp turn, was not conducive to such a plan.

House liked the motorcycle because it was almost like flying. He'd never planned on _actually_ flying. This—soaring through the air as his body slowly detached from his bike—this was not a good feeling. He knew landing would not be a good feeling either. But the worst thing, worse than the flying, worse than the landing, was right after he crashed to the ground when his bike landed with him. On top of him. Specifically, on top of his leg. His right leg.

[]

Wilson woke up and upon discovering House didn't have an arm clamped around him, automatically reached back. He didn't feel anything, causing him to turn over, open his eyes, and discover the empty bed. He shook his head. It was morning, much too early for House to be up already, especially considering the late night he'd had, and even if he'd had insomnia, that problem usually got fixed by the time the sun rose.

"Greg?" Wilson called, getting up. He wasn't in the bathroom or the kitchen/living room. Wilson deduced he must have spent the whole night at the hospital. He checked his phone, but the only message from House was the one he'd received last night, just after nine-thirty, about staying late. Wilson sighed and got ready, figuring he'd just see his best friend at the hospital.

[]

House wasn't sure if it was the pain or the noise that woke him. He was lying on a hard surface, and his leg hurt—not just where it usually did, but all over—his right shoulder was killing him, and his chest hurt, too. He opened his eyes as he started to remember what happened. He'd been in an accident. His helmet was still on—it had probably saved his life, he realised, and he was lying in a grassy, muddy ditch with his bad leg trapped beneath his bike. House took his helmet off so he could see better, and looked around. He could hear the highway, but couldn't see it, which meant that no one on the highway could see him. That explained why he was still out here. It was morning, and House knew it had been around ten at night when he'd gotten into the accident.

And he also realised, with a jolt of terror, that no one knew he was here. After the patient died, House hadn't bothered re-texting Wilson to tell him he was coming home after all. Wilson would assume he was still at the hospital until he got there and realised he wasn't. House looked at his watch—about 5:30. It would be at least two hours before anyone even noticed he was missing.

House reached into his pocket, hoping he hadn't lost his phone during the accident, but it wasn't there. Wincing, he propped himself up on an elbow to see if it was within reach. There—just a couple feet away, but...House reached for it, but being pinned by the bike gave him limited movement, and his hand didn't even come close. He strained, he attempted to pull his leg free of the motorcycle, but that just caused him to gasp out in pain, and he passed out again.

[]

Wilson checked House's office first, but he wasn't there. He doubted the diagnostician would be working in the clinic this early, but it was possible he was napping somewhere. Not Wilson's office; he had stopped by there first to drop off his briefcase and grab his lab coat, but he could be somewhere else.

He wasn't in the clinic or the coma ward or the morgue. Wilson even checked the roof for good measure, but he wasn't there either. There was no sign of him in the cafeteria, but Wilson ran into Cuddy there.

"Hey," Wilson greeted, walking beside her. "Do you know where House is?"

Cuddy checked her watch. "Isn't it a bit early for him? He only comes to work on time when he's riding with you."

"What are you talking about? He was here all night—you gave him another case. You remember that."

"I gave him a case, but the patient had a heart attack and died fifteen minutes later," she explained. "After that I assume House went home."

Wilson shook his head. "He was gone when I got up this morning. And his parking space was empty..." he cut himself off in mid-sentence, mumbled an "Excuse me," to Cuddy, and left the cafeteria. He went outside to check House's parking space at the hospital, but it, too, was deserted.

"He's not here," spoke Cuddy, who'd followed Wilson outside without him realising it. She shrugged. "Maybe he's grabbing breakfast or something."

"Maybe..." Wilson said, reaching into his pocket for his phone.

[-]

The dulcet tones of "Dancing Queen" jerked House awake again. Moaning, he desperately tried to reach for his phone again, but his leg erupted in pain and his fingers were still nearly a foot away.

"Wilson," he said to the deaf piece of plastic. "Wilson, I can't reach my phone! I've been in an accident. I need help..."

The phone did not hear him, and without him pressing a button, neither would anyone on the other side. House turned his head, looking hopelessly at the grassy hill that led to the highway, where he could hear the cars roar past.

"Help!" House shouted hoarsely. "I need some help!"

He knew it was just as useless as trying to talk to Wilson without picking up his phone. If there were no cars going by and someone happened to be standing outside on the highway, then maybe he could be heard, but over the sounds of traffic there wasn't a chance.

House leaned back against the ground, wincing. He was in pain, and he was scared. If no one could see him and no one could hear him...how was anyone ever going to find him?

[-]

"He's not answering," Wilson told Cuddy as they went back inside.

"Wilson, I'm sure he's fine," Cuddy said, turning back to her office. "Maybe he didn't hear his phone, or he left it in his backpack or something. He probably went out for an early breakfast and now he's hanging out at home until when he decides it's an appropriate time to come to work. Speaking of which, it's something we've both got to do. I'll talk to you later, Wilson."

She went into her office and, trying his home number, Wilson reluctantly headed to his.

_"Hello, you've reached James Wilson and Greg House–"_

_"–Could you get any more boring?"_

_"House, be quiet. Leave a message and we'll get back to you–"_

_"_–He'll_ get back to you–"_

_"–as soon as we can."_

"House, it's me," Wilson said into the phone, trying not to sound overly worried. "Please pick up if you're home, you didn't answer your cell...well, call me, all right? I...I'm sure I'll see you soon. Okay, bye."

He put his phone in his pocket and tried to shake off the feeling that something wasn't right.

[]

House had gone into doctor-mode on himself. His right leg was hopelessly trapped beneath the nearly half-ton motorcycle (not to mention hurting like a bitch), but his left leg seemed reasonably okay. Though he'd been conked out through the night, he was conscious now, and clearly alive, so even if there was internal bleeding, it couldn't be too severe. No major arteries nicked, he could breathe fine so he hadn't punctured a lung, though upon inspection he might have a couple of broken ribs. His arms were fine except for bruising and some superficial scrapes. The worst pain was in his right leg—his normal pain in addition to the pain of having a motorcycle pinning it to the ground—and his right shoulder, which he must have landed on. He didn't think his scapula was broken, but it hurt like hell. He tried to lean on his left side to put less pressure on it.

He knew it wouldn't be too long before he became dehydrated, and though his heartbeat seemed normal considering the circumstances, there could easily be damage to his liver or kidneys that he was unaware of.

According to his watch, he'd been here about twelve hours. The fact that he was still alive meant he hadn't bled out, which meant his injuries couldn't be too severe, especially considering that he was on blood thinners. Assuming he was found, he would probably survive. However, he had no idea how anyone could find him if no one could see or hear him and he couldn't reach his phone.

Since the bike had fallen with him, there wasn't any evidence on the side of the road, nothing to catch anyone's interest and inspire them to call the authorities to check it out. But maybe if there were...House couldn't move from where the bike pinned him, but he could move his arms and he could prop himself on his left elbow. He reached for his helmet, which he'd taken off upon waking up, and looked up the hill to the highway. If he could somehow attract attention...

House summoned up all his strength and threw the helmet toward the highway, hoping, almost praying, that someone would see it and check it out.

The helmet landed near the top of the hill, where it promptly rolled back down and settled in the muddy ditch a few metres away.

House groaned in frustration and considered calling for help again, but he could barely hear himself think over the thundering of the traffic; there was no way someone in the interior of a car would be able to hear him.

He knew the chances of being found as he was were very slim. Wilson probably noticed he was gone by now—he would probably worry his brains out (and not without reason, House conceded)—but he wouldn't be able to file a missing persons report until House had been missing for twenty-four hours. And even once that happened, how soon would they look_ here_ for him—a ditch on the side of the road? Yes, he might be found eventually, but that might not be until after he died of dehydration or kidney failure—or from the pain plaguing what felt like every inch of his leg. If he was going to get out of this alive, he'd have to do it himself.

If House could only reach his phone, he could call an ambulance. He couldn't reach his phone, but...his cane! If he could reach his phone with his cane, he could pull it within reach of his hands.

Feeling like an idiot for not thinking of this sooner, House leaned himself up, wincing with the pain in his shoulder and abdomen, and reached for his cane, where he kept it clipped to the side of his bike. Except it wasn't there. There was the clip, House could feel the clip, but no cane. House raised his head from the cold ground and looked around. There, he spotted...not his cane, but half his cane, on the ground, even further out of reach than his cell phone.

House leaned back on the ground. He was exhausted and thirsty and in pain, and he could see no way to remedy any of those problems lying in a muddy ditch. If he couldn't move with the bike on top of him, he'd have to find a way to get the bike off of him. He couldn't sit completely up because of the way the bike held his leg, so he used his abdominal muscles to lift himself as upright as he could and tried to lift the motorcycle.

It was hopeless.

Not only did the thing weigh upwards of five hundred pounds, his position was painful and impossible to maintain, and he also knew the medical dangers of suddenly having the pressure on his leg released, especially alone in an uncontrolled setting. Of course, if he got out from under this thing, there was a much smaller chance of him dying than if he stayed trapped.

After several more failed attempts to raise the motorcycle up and slide himself out, House collapsed to the ground again, panting. He couldn't lift it. Maybe if he tried again he could wriggle out—if not all the way, then maybe at least enough to come within reaching distance of his phone.

House planted his palms in the ground and attempted to push himself out, but the pain that followed was so excruciating that House gasped, eyes streaming, and passed out again.

[]

"Wilson, there you are," Foreman said. "Do you have any idea where House is? He won't answer his phone."

Wilson's stomach flipped. "He hasn't come in yet? None of you have been able to contact him?"

Foreman shook his head, and Wilson reached into his pocket distractedly.

"When's the last time you've seen him?" he asked as he dialled House's number for the fifth time that morning.

"Last night, about nine forty-five. Cuddy gave us a new patient but he died before we even got the differential. So we went home."

"He never came home," Wilson said, biting his lip as House's cell went to voicemail again. "I never heard him come in, and when I woke up he was wasn't there. I assumed he just spent the night here, but when Cuddy said your patient died...at first I thought maybe he did come home and left early and I just didn't hear him, but now..." He put his phone away and looked at Foreman, the distress in his eyes evident. "Foreman, what if something's happened to him?"

Foreman studied him. "You mean like an accident, or...?"

"I don't know," Wilson said, his voice small. "If Cuddy asks, tell her I'm taking the rest of the day."

"Where are you going?" Foreman asked as Wilson turned around.

"First I'm going to call other hospitals in the area and see if anyone's been brought in with House's description. Then I'll check his old apartment even though I _know _he doesn't have a lease there anymore, I'll double-check the condo...I don't know, Foreman," he said, shrugging. "He's not answering his phone. I don't know where he could be. I don't know. But please, you'll tell me if you hear from him?"

"Of course," Foreman said, nodding. "And when you find him, let me know too, okay?"

Wilson nodded and went back to his office.

[]

It was cold. And it was starting to get darker.

House woke up and immediately wished he hadn't. The pain in his leg—his normal pain plus five other pains he couldn't even identify at the moment because it hurt so unbearably much...

He turned onto his side so he wouldn't choke on the vomit he knew was coming. He tasted blood. That was never good. Moaning in pain because he was too weak to scream, House rested his head against the grass and mud in the ground. He just wanted it to be over. He didn't even care anymore if he was found or not. Wilson had found a way to make it through Amber's death, he could make it through House's...House didn't want to die, but he knew no one would find him anytime soon, and he didn't want this anymore...the pain was just...too much...

For the first time since the accident, House wished he hadn't worn the helmet because then he might have died on impact.

[]

"Lisa, I'm scared," Wilson said.

She could tell that from looking at him but decided not to comment. His hair was a mess and he was in his shirtsleeves, his tie loosened. Cuddy sighed. "He hasn't called at all? No one's seen him or spoken to him?"

"No," Wilson said, shaking his head, near tears. "I talked to his old landlord, our neighbours that were home, I've called ten different hospitals and Nolan and Mayfield...Lisa, I'm seriously worried. What if..." he stepped closer to her and lowered his voice. "...what if he's doing drugs again? What if something finally got to him and he couldn't take it anymore and he went out to score some painkillers?"

"You really think he would do that?" she asked, getting up.

"No...I mean...God, I hope not, but...I haven't spoken to him in a day, no one's seen him..."

"I understand, you're worried," Cuddy said, her tone soothing. "Here," she said, scribbling a phone number onto a post-it. "This is Lucas's number. If anyone can find House, he can. I'm going to head out now; give me a call when you hear something, all right?"

Wilson nodded, looking at the number. Cuddy put a sympathetic hand on his arm.

"It's all right," she said. "House will be fine. It's entirely possible he just went to a bar after work and lost his phone. Call Lucas, then go home and relax. He'll turn up."

Lost for words, Wilson simply nodded again. He followed Cuddy out of her office and sat down on a plastic chair in the clinic to dial Lucas's number.

Cuddy gave a strained smile to her staff as she left the hospital. It wasn't like House to disappear like this. Avoid all contact within the hospital, sure, but he never just took off without telling anyone where he was going. And he wouldn't avoid calls from Cuddy, his team, and Wilson. She hoped Wilson would remember to call her once House had been found. She still cared about him and was worried.

However, as she started to drive home she let her thoughts drift away from House and toward Rachel. Tonight was a bath night, and she'd probably need to clip her nails again...what if Rachel ever disappeared? No, she couldn't think about that. It was completely different. Rachel was hardly more than a baby, House was a full grown man. Rachel was at home, safe, and fine, and House would be fine...what was that?

Cuddy usually left the hospital late enough that she wasn't caught in the afternoon traffic, but the babysitter couldn't stay as late today and Cuddy thought she deserved an early evening anyway. The cars on this section of the highway were moving slowly enough that she noticed the rounded stick of wood lying on the shoulder of the road.

_It couldn't be_, she thought, shaking her head. She'd been thinking about House, so she thought...but as she neared the unidentified object everyone else just zoomed past, her doubt got the better of her and she pulled over. _Yes_, she thought, stepping up to it. It was the top half of a cane, the bottom part had been snapped off somehow...but of course, that didn't necessarily mean...

Cuddy looked around, stepping from the gravel road shoulder onto the grass, where she peered down into the ditch and gasped. Pulling her phone out of her purse, she speed-dialled the hospital to call for an ambulance.

As soon as they confirmed her location she hurried down into the ditch where she could see the head of her diagnostic department sprawled on the ground beneath his motorcycle. To her relief, she could see his chest rising and falling as he breathed, and she knelt down beside him.

"House," she whispered, taking his head in her hands.

He moaned at her voice and touch, and she repeated his name. Slowly he opened his eyes, and she wiped a tear from hers.

"House," she said again, smiling. "I'm here, it's going to be okay."

"Wilson," House said, looking at her. "Where's Wilson...?" and his eyes closed again as Cuddy heard the blare of sirens.


	19. To Vicodin or not to Vicodin

**A/N:** Just a reminder that what I know about medicine can fit into one of those little cups that measure the dosage of liquid Tylenol. I try to have as little focus as possible on the medical stuff and I have done some research for what I've included, but I apologise profusely if I screwed anything up.

7.18—"To Vicodin or not to Vicodin"

"Lisa!" Wilson shouted, hurrying over to her. He gave her a hug in spite of everything that had happened between them—she found House, if he lived, she would be the one who saved his life. "Where is he?"

"They just brought him in, they want to get him into surgery for his leg as soon as possible," Cuddy said, squeezing Wilson's arm in comfort. "James, his leg looks really bad, but he should live. He'd been out there for hours and he regained consciousness when I found him. His motorcycle fell on top of him, pinning him to the ground, on his bad leg, too. He couldn't move and he was in a ditch not visible from the highway, that's why no one found him earlier."

"How did you find him?" Wilson asked incredulously. "If he wasn't visible from the highway–"

"–His cane must have snapped off during the accident," she explained. "I was driving home and I saw half a cane lying on the side of the road...no one had found him, it's the same way to get the condo...I thought it was worth checking out."

Wilson hugged her again, and she hugged back. "If Rachel ever needs a babysitter again," he muttered into her ear, "I swear to god, Lisa, whenever you need me, I'll do it for free."

Cuddy chuckled. "Come on. I know you want to see him before he goes into surgery."

She was right, of course, and he hurried down the hallway with her.

He could hardly see House behind the flurry of bodies working on him, but what he did see looked bad. House was unconscious, or at least unmoving, and his leg was a tangled mess. Wilson paid no attention to the tears that started to leak from his eyes at the sight of the man he loved in such a state. He wanted nothing more than to go to him, hold his hand and tell him everything would be all right, but he knew if he moved any closer he would just be in the way.

He was also terrified that something would happen—House's outlook was good, considering how long he'd survived after the accident even without medical attention, but it was certainly not a sure thing. He'd been bruised and cut all over and spent almost a day lying in a muddy ditch—infection was almost guaranteed, though treatable. His bike had been on top of his leg for hours, but it had only kept him from moving, it hadn't stopped blood flow, so at least crush syndrome was not an issue. Greg would probably live. Wilson continued to tell himself that as they rushed his best friend to the OR and he rushed himself to the OR observation room.

[]

It was Thirteen's turn to bring him coffee.

Every hour since the surgery started, one of House's underlings would go up to the observation room with Wilson, to bring him coffee, watch awhile, and try to comfort him with meaningless platitudes that went in one ear and out the other.

All he could think about was the time their roles had been reversed, when House had refused, at first, to be there for Wilson's liver transplant surgery because, "If you die, I'm alone."

But what about if House died? What would happen to Wilson then? Couldn't he have thought about that before he went out driving his death machine? !

He'd tried to look into House's eyes as they anaesthetised him, but the older man had already been unconscious. Wilson remembered the time it had been him on the table; even though he'd asked House to come, House had told him no, but then he'd shown up anyway...Wilson was about to go under when he looked up and saw his best friend standing there. He'd looked into his beautiful eyes and knew that even if he did die on the table, if the last thing he saw was House's eyes looking at him, that would be okay.

And that's when he knew he was in love with his best friend. Yes, he'd spent the following months trying to deny it, chasing after Sam to distract himself, but he knew the moment he saw House looking down at him from the observation room that he was in love with him, had been for years, and probably would be forever.

"So you can't die on me, Greg," Wilson whispered to the glass. "You can't, because what would I have then? I already lost Amber, and you know how much I loved her. I can't stand to lose you, too. I love you too much, so please, baby, don't die."

"They're almost done," a voice next to him said. "He's made it so far, he should get through this."

He didn't jump; he'd heard her come in, but he didn't really want to see anyone now except Greg, awake and feeling better. But he still took the coffee she gave him with a muttered, "Thanks." The man he loved more than anything else in the world was hurt and could die, but that didn't mean he needed to be rude.

They both watched the procedure below in silence.

Wilson was exhausted, he was scared, he probably smelled and he had to pee from all the coffee, but he didn't want to move. He couldn't leave while Greg was still in surgery. What if a complication arose at the last minute and he wasn't there to...to what? Go crazy with frustration because the surgeons were down there, he was up here and there was nothing he could do? Watch the love of his life die? Whisper 'I love you,' to the glass window again?

No, he had to see. He had to see that it was going to be okay. He wanted to know it would be okay as soon as it started being okay. And he...he wanted to know if it wasn't okay the moment it wasn't okay.

That scary thought caused his eyes to well up with tears again, and they slowly made their way down the lines of his face.

Thirteen squeezed his hand. "He's going to be all right. They're repairing his femur, not giving him a heart transplant. And they're nearly finished. He _will_ get through this."

Wilson nodded but didn't answer. He wanted to hope but wasn't ready...he didn't want to get his hopes up just to have them crushed...to never be able to hold Greg again, never be able hear his laughter or look into his captivating eyes...to never be able to grow old with him, to never...

"We're engaged," he blurted suddenly to Thirteen. He quickly looked down into the OR again. They hadn't talked about telling anyone.

"That's..." she started to say, and then moved close to him and smiled. "Wilson, look at me. He _will _live to marry you. He loves you too much not to. He'd never forgive himself if he died without getting the chance to marry you."

For some reason, that made Wilson smile, and he looked back down to watch the surgeons finish repairing his best friend, his...fiancé.

"Can I stay or would you prefer that I go?"

Wilson remembered that whenever he and House got into a fight, she'd been the one to try and get them to talk to each other, to work though it. She'd helped Wilson see that he was scared of cheating on House even though he didn't want to, and she'd encouraged him to let House move at his own pace when it came to giving up his apartment. She...she cared about House and Wilson too.

"I'd like you to stay."

[]

His eyes felt heavy. He heard a faint beeping at regular intervals. It smelled like work. He was in the hospital. He knew that. Cuddy had found him. And his leg was throbbing faintly, but it wasn't hurting the way it usually did, so he was on drugs. Probably morphine. And there was something in his hand. No, someone was holding his hand. Wilson? Please, he wanted it to be Wilson.

Slowly he opened his eyes, and for the first time since his accident, he smiled. Wilson. His Wilson.

He'd brought his office chair down into House's room, it being much more comfortable than the chairs they kept there, he was wearing scrubs, and he was sleeping, fingers threaded between House's. House used his free hand to stroke Wilson's hair, relieved to see him but not ready to wake him yet. His night had probably sucked almost as much as House's had; he deserved a few moments peace.

House glanced at his leg; he wanted to ascertain the damage now that he could see it, but it was in a cast. Of course it was. His bike had landed on it; how could he not have fractured it? At least it didn't hurt so much anymore. His pain was only at a two, the lowest it had been since he'd tried methadone. The morphine was clearly doing its job. His shoulder too, he could tell that there was damage, but there was barely any pain. It was ironic that he felt better after having a near fatal accident than he did on a daily basis. Of course, the pain he'd had to deal with after the accident...he didn't want to think about it. He tried to put the accident from his mind, he was recovering now. He spent a few minutes watching Wilson sleep. He squeezed his hand, and then used his free one to stroke Wilson's hair again, and then the side of his face, and his lips.

Then Wilson woke up.

"Oh!" he said, looking around in confusion. Then his eyes landed on House and his face broke into a smile. "Hey, how are you feeling?"

"Pretty good, considering I'm on drugs," House responded.

"I'm just glad you're alive," Wilson murmured, squeezing his hand and stroking his face before pressing his lips to his forehead. "I'm never letting you ride a motorcycle ever again."

"It wasn't my fault," House said indignantly. "There was a stalled car on the highway. The same thing could've happened to you. Or maybe not to you because you actually take those signs with the big black numbers seriously, but any other normal person would have been just as screwed as I was."

"I don't want to argue with you right now," Wilson said, still smiling. "I'm just...grateful that you're okay. I love you."

"Yeah, I know you do," House said, looking away and trying not to smile.

[]

It was safe to say that House was bored. Despite Wilson agreeing to pay for cable in his room, he was bored. Because his leg was broken, he couldn't move from his godforsaken bed and find away to relieve his boredom. In less than a week he'd managed to make enemies out of the few nurses attending him who hadn't already hated his guts, diagnose himself with an infection, convince Wilson to have sex with him on the hospital bed (multiple times), and solve Foreman's case, but he was still bored. He hated having to lie around. The only good thing about being a patient in the hospital was that the morphine kept his pain down. That is, until Cuddy decided to take him off of it.

"House, you're healing," she explained when he gave her a look that would make any lesser woman flinch and then fear for her life. "Your bones are mending, your bruising is almost gone, and you're still on antibiotics for your infection."

"I'm still in _pain_," House argued. "The morphine doesn't knock it out completely. It's not just my usual leg pain, Cuddy, the whole thing hurts, and so do my chest and shoulder. Take me off painkillers and I'll just go right back to where I was when you found me in the ditch."

"I'm not taking you off painkillers, House," Cuddy said, rolling her eyes. "It's only been a week, you're still in pain, so I'll do what I'd do for any other patient. I'm replacing your morphine with hydrocodone."

House stared at her like she'd suggested he give up medicine to open up a daycare service.

"Do you _want_ me chucked back in the nuthouse?" he demanded. "Or did you think that by calling it hydrocodone I wouldn't know you meant Vicodin?"

"House," she said, looking at him carefully. "You just said you're in pain. We both know you need it."

"I don't need Vicodin!" he argued, looking at Wilson for support. "Give me morphine, give me oxycodone, give me codeine, but I'm not I'm not going on Vicodin no matter what you call it."

"Greg," Wilson said, squeezing his hand. "It won't be like before. It will only be administered by your doctors in the hospital. When you're ready to be discharged, you'll go back onto ibuprofen."

"I won't take it, Wilson. It took me eighteen months to get here. You're crazy if you think I'm just going to throw it all away–"

"–House, your addiction was to opiates," Cuddy pointed out. "Not Vicodin specifically. You've already been taking morphine, and giving you oxy or codeine won't be any different than giving you hydrocodone. They're all opiates, but morphine and oxy are more than what you need right now and codeine probably won't help your pain that much."

"I don't care," he said, glaring at Cuddy. "Yes, my body was addicted to opiates, but mentally I was addicted to Vicodin. I'm not taking that chance again, Cuddy, I'm not. If you don't want to give me morphine or oxy, then give me codeine."

"Codeine will barely–"

"–I don't care!" House repeated. He looked at Wilson, eyes pleading. "I need this," he said. "Don't let them give me Vicodin again. I'll take codeine. I can get through the pain on codeine. Please, Wilson."

"Greg," Wilson said, looking at House carefully, "You were in an accident. Codeine won't cut it–"

"–It will!" House argued. "I'm not taking Vicodin or hydrocodone by any other name. I'm not going through that again."

Cuddy and Wilson looked at each other, and finally she sighed. "I'll get the codeine, then."

[]

At first Wilson wasn't sure what woke him up. Then he looked at House and suddenly it didn't matter.

"Greg, you're bleeding!" he said, alarmed.

"It's nothing," House murmured. "I just...I must've bit my lip on accident. Go back to sleep, Wilson."

But Wilson had already gotten up to turn on the light, and looking back at House made him feel sick to his stomach. Not only was there blood streaming from House's bottom lip, sweat covered his face and neck and he was shaking. When they'd brought him in after the accident, he'd looked hurt, but now he looked physically ill.

"Greg, you're shaking and you're sweating!" Wilson said, getting a tissue to wipe blood from his lover's face. "You're in pain! Give me a number."

"Seven," House choked.

"You're lying," Wilson accused, feeling House's pulse even though the monitor clearly displayed his heart rate. "You haven't looked this bad since the last time I've seen you detox from Vicodin."

"All right, nine," House admitted, glaring. "Are you happy now?"

"No, Greg, I'm worried about you!" Wilson pointed out. "You're hurt, the codeine isn't enough. You need Vicodin."

"No I don't!" House argued, his voice shaking as well as his body. "I can't do it, Wilson, I just can't! I can get through the pain, I've been living with it for over ten years. I can live with the pain. But I can't...I don't know if I could live through getting addicted to Vicodin again." He stared straight forward and his body continued to shake. Wilson didn't know what else he could do except climb onto the hospital bed with House, holding his shaking form to comfort him as well as to comfort himself.

[]

Wilson had mixed feelings about having to work while his lover was still recovering in the hospital. He didn't want to abandon him, but it had been over a week and his body was recovering. And he didn't want to see him in pain but he would be in pain whether Wilson was with him or not. And, though Wilson would admit this to no one because it made him feel so guilty, House had been extremely irritable since he'd been taken off morphine and after the first five shouting matches about absolutely nothing Wilson didn't exactly relish being in the room with him. Work was almost a welcome relief.

Cuddy knocked on his door before letting herself in, and Wilson nodded at her.

"Hey," she greeted, sitting down. "How are you holding up?"

"I've been better," Wilson admitted. "But I can't complain when I think of what he's going through. He's so goddam stubborn! I understand that he's scared of getting addicted again, but he won't admit that he needs this. I don't know what to do."

"There is...something," Cuddy said, almost hesitantly.

He looked at her. "What? Another drug?"

"No...it's...well, Wilson, you're his medical proxy," she pointed out. "If we determine he's not capable of making a decision for himself, we just need your permission to administer the drugs."

When he didn't say anything, she continued. "Wilson, none of us like to see him like this. We know this isn't his usual pain, it's much worse. We both know he needs the Vicodin."

Wilson shook his head. "I can't do it. It hurts me to see him like that, but he needs to make the decision for himself."

"He's making the wrong one," Cuddy argued. "Being in this much pain isn't good for his recovery. Wilson, come on. You love him. We both know that right now, Vicodin is the best thing for him."

"No," Wilson said. "It hurt him too much the first time, I'm not going to let it happen again."

"It won't be like before, it will be controlled–"

"–I don't mean that," Wilson cut her off, shaking his head. "You're asking me to go behind his back. I love Greg more than anyone, and I want what's best for him, but if I agree to this, he'll never forgive me and he'll push me away just like he did with Stacy. I can't let that happen. He needs me in his life and I need him in mine. I can't do what she did knowing how it ended. I just can't. The last thing he needs is what happened with Stacy all over again. I don't know if he can recover from it this time. Lisa, I want him to change his mind, but I'm not going to betray his trust. I can't do that to him. I'm sorry."

[]

House looked up at the sound of his door opening to see a large man in a vest enter the room.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, his tone far from pleasant.

"I came to see you," Dr. Nolan said calmly, sitting in a chair near House's bed.

"I don't know if you noticed," he snapped moodily, "but I'm not exactly in the mood to chat. My leg is killing me in five different places and I can't even rub it because of this goddam cast. So you can just toddle back over to Mayfield now. There's nothing you can do."

"Dr. Wilson tells me that they wanted to give you Vicodin for the pain, but you refused."

"You must be so proud of me," House retorted.

"I appreciate how difficult this must be for you, Greg, but I want you to know that it's all right if you change your mind. You were addicted to Vicodin before when you didn't really need it. But now your body does need it. You're in pain–"

"–You think?"

"–much more severe than your normal pain. You're intelligent enough to realise that there's a difference between using Vicodin now and the way you abused it before."

"When I had the infarction," House grunted, "I needed it then, too. I needed it, like now. And you know what it turned into. I...can't. You don't know how hard it is for me to say no...when I feel like this...I want them but I...I'm scared," he admitted. Then he paused to throw up in his metal basin again.

Nolan went to the bathroom and brought him a cup of water. He rinsed his mouth and drank it, looking away.

"This...sucks," he continued, "But being addicted again...that would suck more. Wilson would hate me. And I can't lose Wilson. I can't."

"James has suggested you take the Vicodin," Nolan reminded him. "He won't leave you for taking drugs when you need them."

"He might leave if I get addicted again. Not right away. Eventually. He might..."

"It will be different this time," Nolan pointed out. "You won't have a bottle of Vicodin to take whenever you want, however many you want. The dosage will be strictly controlled, and you'll be taken off it as you heal. This isn't meant as a permanent solution, Greg."

"Wasn't supposed to be a permanent solution last time either," House panted. "What time is it?"

"Quarter to one. Why?"

"Wondering when you're gonna leave," House answered without looking at him.

"When's your next dose of codeine?" the therapist asked.

"1:30," he replied instantly.

Nolan gave a sad smile. "It takes a strong person to refuse stronger drugs the way you are, when you so clearly want them and need them. But I think you're also strong enough to take them and then stop when you need to stop. I hope you change your mind, Greg."

[]

He wished he hadn't woken up. He hated waking up. At least when he slept he wasn't conscious of the pain. When was it going to go away? It hadn't been lower than a seven since the morphine. He was constantly sweating and shaking, and he couldn't keep anything down. It was like detox all over again, only worse because he couldn't walk around or rub his leg to try and ease the pain.

Cuddy was sitting by his bed. She watched him, and he glared at her.

"What do you want?" he asked, hating her having to see him like this.

"I came to see how you're doing," she said, trying to smile at him.

"I'm just peachy, in case you couldn't tell that from looking at me."

She sniffed. "You were crying out in your sleep. House, I hate seeing you like this. Wilson does, too. You don't know how much it hurts him. Please, House," she implored. "Your body _needs_ the drugs."

"No!" he shouted. "I'm not doing it, Cuddy. I...I want to be better than that."

"You can't control what your body needs!"

"But I can control what I put into it!" His breathing was shallow and his eyes were bloodshot as he glared at her. "I'm not letting you give me Vicodin. End of story."

She shook her head at him and stormed out of the room. He lay back against his bed, hands clutching at the plaster around his leg.

[]

House wasn't crying. He was in pain and the pain was causing a few tears to escape from his ducts, but that wasn't the same as crying.

All the same, when Wilson came in to see him, he shook his head.

"Go," he urged, turning his head away. "Get out. You don't need to see me like this."

"Greg, I'm not going anywhere," Wilson disagreed, moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

He tried to turn his head away, but Wilson took his face in his hands. He used his thumb to wipe a tear from House's cheek. "You're ridiculous if you think I'm going to judge you for crying," he said softly. "You should've seen me when they brought you in after the accident..." he chuckled, stroking House's face.

"It's just a little pain," House muttered, not catching the other man's eye. "What am I, a five-year-old with a scraped knee?"

"This is significantly more than a scraped knee, Greg," Wilson pointed out.

House still wouldn't look at him. A few more tears left his eyes and he bit his lip, which started bleeding again.

"How bad is it?" Wilson whispered.

"Nine and a half," House mumbled. His hand found Wilson's knee, which he squeezed, as though that might do something for his own leg.

"Oh, Greg," Wilson murmured sadly.

At last House caught Wilson's eye. He looked scared, and either the fear or the pain was causing him to tremble. "I don't want to fail," House whispered.

"Greg, you're not failing," Wilson whispered back, stroking his cheek.

"You...you think I should take the Vicodin?" he asked.

Wilson looked into House's eyes, holding his hand with one hand and his face with the other. "Yes," he said.

House looked down. For a long time he was silent.

"You..." he said finally, "You'd have to administer it. I never get a bottle. And it's just...on a day-to-day basis, I'll decide if I need it, and if not I'll just take the codeine."

Wilson nodded along with him, struggling not to cry himself.

"And one more thing," House continued, looking at Wilson again. "In...in the cabinet where you keep the spices...on the top shelf there's a box of baking soda behind the cornstarch. When you go home, I want you to throw it out, okay?"

Wilson nodded fervently, and House nodded back at him. "Greg, I'm proud of you," Wilson whispered. "And...I love you."

"I know," House muttered. "I...you, too, Wilson." He drew in a shaky breath and squeezed Wilson's knee. Wilson squeezed House's hand on his knee and then leaned forward to give him a gentle, lingering kiss.

When he pulled back, House nodded at him. "You can...go tell Cuddy."

[]

Dr. Lisa Cuddy walked resolutely through the halls of her hospital. In her hand was a white paper cup. In the cup were two white tablets. She entered the patient room where House sat up on his bed and Wilson sat in a chair next to him.

Both doctors looked at her as she entered.

She tried to give them an encouraging smile as she handed the cup to Wilson.

Wilson took House's shaking hand and dropped the pills into it.

House looked at Wilson, who nodded at him.

He took a deep breath, leaned his head back, and dropped them into his mouth.

**The End**


End file.
